Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!
by images-in-words
Summary: When the Witch Accords were signed among the great magical Houses following the massacre of so many innocents in Salem due to the actions of only a few, a solemn oath was sworn to ensure that any witches found to be in violation of the Accords would be hunted down and imprisoned. The Houses to whom this task was entrusted were House Berry and House Fabray. (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 _ **Prelude**_

When the Witch Accords were signed among the great magical Houses following the massacre of so many innocent women and girls in Salem due to the actions of only a few, a solemn oath was sworn to ensure that any witches found to be in violation of the Accords would be hunted down and imprisoned, no matter what or how long it took. The document had been signed in Witchblood, sacred and inviolate, binding upon the whole of Witchkind. Any witches foolish or arrogant enough to break the laws set forth in it would be declared pariahs and renegades, subject to any and all efforts required to subdue, capture and remove them from society. It was the unanimous will, therefore, of the Witch Council that the daughters of the two greatest Houses would be honored with the task of bringing to magical justice any witches who refused to abide by the Accords. The Houses to whom this most solemn and sacred task was entrusted were those of the wisest and most powerful witches in the world: House Berry and House Fabray. And so it was that their daughters, and their daughters' daughters, would be known forevermore, as...Witch Hunters!

 **chapter one**

Lima, Ohio, is a small town that contains a lot of weirdness in it. Of course, most of its residents are unaware of that little fact, and that's a good thing. It wasn't always this way, though. It used to be that the weirdness was concentrated in larger, more sprawling places like, say, Cleveland or Cincinnati or even Dayton. But more recently it's been found to have moved to the smaller, bucolic suburbs of places like Belleville, Carmel and now, Lima.

Which is not a smart move for any denizen of the dark to make.

Quinn Fabray wakes up before her alarm clock goes off (yes, she still uses one of those; she's kind of an old-fashioned girl that way), eyes wide open, senses cast out in search of any unusual forces or vibrations in the etheric sphere. She feels just the tiniest bit of _something,_ but can't quite pinpoint just what it is. Well, no matter. Whatever – or _whoever –_ it might be, she'll figure it out soon enough. And then she'll deal with it.

 _You mean_ _ **we'll**_ _deal with it,_ a sweet, lilting voice in her mind reminds her.

Quinn laughs at the musical sound. _Yes, of course. Good morning, Rachel._

 _How are you? Did you sleep well?_ Rachel's disembodied voice asks.

 _Could you put yourself on visual, please? You know it makes me feel weird to be talking to you without seeing you._

 _What, and let you see me before I've gone through my morning hygiene ritual?_

 _I've seen that before, Rachel. And may I say, I wouldn't exactly be opposed to seeing it again in person?_

 _Duly noted,_ Rachel laughs. _And neither would I. We'll have to make some plans. That is, if our mothers ever let us out of their sight again._

 _Well, how was I to know that...well,_ _ **that**_ _would resonate so strongly on the etheric plane?_

Quinn blushes. It had been _so_ worth her mother's ire, and the punishment that followed.

 _As much as I hate to admit it, I wasn't aware of that inconvenient fact myself. Although I think maybe it wasn't so much the one time that did it. I think it was the fact that there were so many, so quickly -_

 _Okay, okay. Whatever the case, I'm lucky my mom lets me out of the house to go to school or, you know, hunt evil, these days._ Quinn pouts. It really has been too long since they've been able to get together for anything else.

 _She has to get over it eventually. After all, she knows that you can't be what you are and be grounded and have a curfew. I get that she wants to treat you like a normal teenager, but you're anything but that._

Quinn frowns at the sound of her mother's voice calling her downstairs for breakfast. Groaning, she throws off the covers and sits up in her bed. Just once, she'd like Judy Fabray to sleep in and just let her daughter fix herself a bowl of cereal or something instead of the "complete and balanced breakfast" she insists on making every morning.

She opens her bedroom door and yells through the opening that she'll be down in a minute.

 _Well, Judy's up and cooking, so it's time for me to go. Meet me at my locker?_

 _Of course! I still need to shower after my elliptical workout. You know how sweaty I get after that._

 _God, Rachel! You can't say things like that this early in the morning. Now_ my _shower will have to be cold. Thanks a lot._

 _You're welcome. See you soon!_

Quinn feels Rachel's presence vanish from her mind and immediately misses the contact. She smiles, thinking about how they'll soon see each other in school. Her mother calls again. Sighing, she jams her feet into her slippers and half-walks, half-stumbles, still slightly sleepy, down the stairs to greet Judy Fabray in her glory: plate of pancakes in one hand, spatula in the other, smile on her face. Her strawberry-blonde hair is bound up in a perfect bun; a spotless white apron is draped over her simple pink dress.

"Good morning, mom," she says. She kisses her mother on the cheek, takes the pancake-laden plate from her and places it on the kitchen table. The chair scrapes at the floor when Quinn pulls it away from the table, and Judy frowns at the unpleasant sound.

"Good morning, Quinn. Did you sleep well?" Judy asks, gesturing with a nod of her head to the stove. Quinn absently waves her hand, and the flame under the pan vanishes. "It seemed like cheerleading practice tired you out pretty badly yesterday."

"I'm fine, Mom. Yes, Coach Sylvester makes us work hard, but that's because she just wants us to be the best," Quinn replies. She pours a generous amount of maple syrup onto her pancakes. Ah, the benefit of Witchkind metabolism. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"Mm-hmm. I don't know - it seems that being involved in both cheerleading _and_ the Glee Club is an awful lot to deal with, on top of your class work and...other responsibilities."

"Oh, just say it, Mom. You don't want me spending so much time with Rachel. I know you're not entirely thrilled that I'll never date the star of the football team the way you did with Dad, but she makes me happy. I wish you'd just accept that already."

Judy's smile thins into a tight line. "Now, honey. You know I like Rachel. She's a very sweet and talented girl. I just think that maybe this is kind of a phase, like the time you wanted to be a firefighter _and_ an astronaut when you were little."

Quinn groans around a mouthful of pancake. "For the millionth time, Mom, it's _not_ a phase. It's not some kind of experiment, either. Rachel and I...we have something really special together. I feel it every time I'm with her."

"But she's..." her mother pauses, searching for the right word. She wants to say this carefully, not wishing to upset her daughter further. "You know."

" _Jewish_? Yes, I know, and I don't care. Honestly, mom. Give me a break."

"No, not that. She's...she's a _Berry,_ Quinn. You know what a Berry did to one of your ancestors."

"The Betrayal?" Quinn rolls her eyes. _Not this again._ "You're seriously going to hold that against her? Mom, that was 250 years ago. Are you actually going to keep that grudge going? It's old news. Time for the family to get over it already. I trust Rachel. I like being with her. I might even be in _love_ with her, Mom. Please try to respect that."

Judith Fabray's face darkens, and her lips twist with anger. "Because you're my daughter and I love you, I'll respect it, Quinn – but I _don't_ have to like it. One day, though, mark my words – the Witch Council _will_ change the Accords, and then our family can be avenged!"

Quinn jumps up from the table, furious. Her mother flinches back, startled by her vehemence.

"Which means _what_ , Mom? You'll have one or both of Rachel's fathers killed? Or her mother? Or maybe even – goddesses of the Witchblood, forgive me for even _thinking_ this – Rachel herself? Well, let me tell _you_ something: I will _die_ before I let that happen!"

Her mother's voice sounds far older, far deeper than Quinn has ever heard it when she speaks next, in a slow but deadly cadence, steeped in menace. There is a dire warning here. _When the old blood speaks, it is wise to listen,_ the ancient Witch proverb says.

"You would choose a Berry over your own kin, daughter? Truly? Consider this carefully. The Fabray blood is slow to rise, but quick to strike. You forget who you are. _We_ were meant to rule Witchkind. Power shared is power diminished. The Accords will be the undoing of us all, one day. Heed these words, and know their truth, Lucille Quinn Fabray. Dismiss them at your peril."

Quinn is shaken, but she'll be damned if she lets the hateful _thing_ inside her mother see it. She knows it's not really Judy spitting these baleful words at her, but can't help but be stung by them all the same.

"Great-grandmother.," she says, her voice dripping with disdain. "How... _unpleasant_ it is to hear from you again. Let me give _you_ some words to heed: _GET - the - hell – OUT - of – my - MOM!"_

She raises both hands in fury and summons her power, focusing it on the entity using her mother's mouth to give voice to its centuries-old hate. A soul-tearing shriek rips forth from her throat, and the entity howls in impotent protest as Quinn banishes it back to the corner of Judy Fabray's mind that serves as its prison.

Quinn slumps back into her chair, and instantly she feels Rachel in her mind once more. Strength flows into her, freely shared. _It's okay now, sweetie. Your mom is safe now. You're safe. One day we'll get this curse lifted from her, I swear._

"Yeah. One day," Quinn whispers. Her mother moans, and her head snaps up as though she's just been awakened from a deep, deep sleep by a jolt of electricity.

"Quinnie? It...it happened again, didn't it?" her mother says. It's not really a question. "I'm so sorry, honey. You know I didn't mean any of it...right, sweetheart? You know I didn't."

Quinn Fabray, scion of the Witch House of Fabray, wearily rises from her chair, T-shirt and loose, billowing lounge pants singed by magic unleashed, and gathers her mother into a strong embrace. A single tear tracks down her cheek.

"I know, Mom," she whispers into her mother's ear. "I know."

Long seconds later, she releases Judy from her arms. "I have to get to school, Mom. Will you – will you be all right?"

Her mother gives her a tired smile, meant to reassure. Quinn steps back to allow Judy to rise from her chair. "Yes, I'll be fine. I just need to rest for a little while. You go get yourself ready for school now." Quinn watches her with concerned eyes. "I'm all right, Quinn. Get going. You don't want to be late and keep Rachel waiting for you, do you? Go."

Rachel's voice, calm and strong, speaks in her mind. Quinn feels it wrapping itself around her like a soft, warm blanket, and she revels in the sensation.

 _She's all right, Quinn. It's asleep again - and after the way you blasted it, it will be a good long while before it wakes up again._

"Okay, Mom," she finally says, still eyeing her mother gravely. "But if you need anything – _anything –_ just call me, and I'll be here. And I don't mean on the phone."

Judy is already re-tying the apron she's wearing, and gestures a hand in dismissal. "Yes, yes, yes, of course, Quinn. Now will you _please_ get going? _I'm_ the mother here, not you."

 _Come on, Quinn. Leave her be. You know how it is...after. She needs some time._

Nodding warily, Quinn turns on her heel and climbs up the stairs, heading for the shower. She knows the water's already running before she gets to the bathroom.

 _I'll warm up the water for you._

Quinn smiles. _You always know just what I need._

Downstairs, Judy Fabray cleans the sticky plates in the sink, humming an aimless, nameless tune as she does. And in a deep, dark corner of her mind, bound in darkness, a crone's voice mumbles faintly, ever so faintly, speaking in its sleep, dreaming of vengeance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 **chapter two**

The park in the center of Lima is Brittany S. Pierce's favorite place in the world. She loves nothing more than feeding the cute, soft, downy ducks that swim around the pond at the heart of the park, cooing and singing to them while she tosses pieces of bread into the water. The signs around the park that warn against feeding the ducks confuse her: how can it be bad to feed the ducks? Do they want the poor things to starve? After all, there isn't any other food around that she can see. It's not like they even have a phone to order take-out.

She wishes her girlfriend was here with her today. It's a cool morning, and she adores the way Tina always wraps her in her arms to keep her nice and toasty. _I'll always keep you warm, Britt-Britt,_ she'll say, her voice muffled by the curtain of Brittany's cornsilk blonde hair as she buries her face in the crook of her neck, planting little kisses there that never fail to make her shiver with warmth. Unfortunately, she's stuck helping two of their friends from Glee Club make costumes for their upcoming Sectionals competition right now. Brittany had offered to help as well, but Tina had waved her off, promising that she would meet up with her at the park later.

 _Isn't it later now?_ Brittany asks herself with a frown, idly tossing chunks of bread toward the ducks swimming around the pond like feathered ships on a naval mission. _If it's not, when is it? Time is a mystery. That's why I don't wear a watch._

Her mind wanders off, as it frequently tends to do, into territories unexplored by anyone but Brittany. All her life, people have called her stupid, but she's always believed that's just a word people use to describe why they can't understand her. She's not stupid at all. Her brain just works differently than everybody else's. And she can see things that no one else does. It's not her fault if others don't get it.

(A mother duck with a brood of ducklings in tow quirks its head and glares balefully at the blonde girl, wishing she'd just stop thinking and throw more bread already.)

As her mind continues to wander, Brittany begins to think about the weird dreams she's been having lately. At first, she'd thought maybe Lord Tubbington had been projecting them into her brain so that he wouldn't be the only one suffering from insomnia, but when a particularly strange dream had awakened her one night, she'd found the large feline deeply asleep in his comfy bed, so that had blown her theory right there.

The dreams are like nothing else she's ever experienced – like looking through a window into a world that's completely alien. In this world, colors are dim and muted, like watercolors, but smells are sharp and intense. The air is thick and heavy. Her lungs feel as though they've had to expand to several times their normal size just to breathe, and her skin prickles as though someone's just run an ice cube all along the length and breadth of her body.

In the dreams, she's a passive observer, like a disembodied spirit, drifting through this strange world, taking silent notice of the shadowy doings of robed and hooded beings as they pore over enormous books and draw strange, elaborate symbols on long sheets of tan parchment. She knows that it all means something, but she can't imagine what that meaning could be, or why she's seeing all these strange things. Still, there's a tingling sensation at the back of her mind that tells her to tuck everything she's experiencing away in a secure corner of her memory, that it's vitally important for her to do so. It's a feeling she's had often in the waking world, too, and one she's learned not to dismiss.

Suddenly she becomes aware of a presence, strange and silent and carrying a faint scent of something _wrong._ Her eyes snap open, and her body bristles with tension, every nerve alert and aware. There's something here that _shouldn't_ be. In _her_ town. In _her_ park.

Her eyes scan the scenery, searching for something, anything, to clue her in to what the source of this feeling might be. When her gaze alights on a certain tree, her vision is drawn up to a particularly long and wizened branch, and meets with pair of yellow eyes staring back at her. The eyes belong to a large, black-feathered bird perched there. Its beak is long and sharp, and its jet plumage ruffles ever so slightly as it seems to take Brittany's measure. They continue to stare at each other for several long minutes, and then the bird takes flight, a rough _caw_ issuing from its beak as it ascends. Brittany tries to follow its path through the air, but it disappears quickly, leaving her to shake her head at the strangeness of it all.

"Hey baby. What are you staring at?" Tina's voice sounds as though it's underwater, or coming from somewhere far away.

Brittany shakes her head, forces a smile as the Asian girl sits beside her on the bench they've come to think of as exclusively theirs.

"Um, nothing. Just a bird," she says. Tina pulls her into a firm, yet gentle embrace, but it doesn't really help her to feel settled. "It was really big and black and it had these spooky yellow eyes. I don't think I've ever seen a bird like that before."

Tina releases her, looks hard at Brittany's face for the tell-tale signs of stress and worry that she hates to see. "It...it scared you, didn't it?" she asks, and there's so much tender concern in her voice that Brittany can't bring herself to lie and say it was nothing.

"Yeah. Yeah, it kind of did. I don't know why."

Tina sees her girlfriend's eyes widen in the next moment and feels, rather than hears, the warning to "DUCK!" Somehow, she manages to lower her head as Brittany swats at the dark missile that's flown straight at them. The bird croaks its strange call once more as it soars back up into the air, and both girls know it's gearing up to attack them again. Brittany hates the bird for putting the look of fear that she sees on Tina's face. She glares at the creature, silently warning it to rethink its current course of action.

The bird zooms down from the sky, talons like little razors extended to slash at its intended targets, to cut their flesh or perhaps take out their eyes. Tina's scream melds with the bird's to create a strange, otherworldly tone, low and high all at once. Brittany vaguely recalls hearing something like it in a dream. Time seems to slow down around them. All that seems to exist at this moment is the sky and the black bolt of shadow descending upon them at a speed no ordinary bird should be able to attain.

Just when it seems the creature is about to be upon them, another voice, strong and commanding, shatters the stillness of the moment, and a bright, blinding light flashes out of nowhere.

"STOP!" the voice shouts. Both girls think it sounds kind of familiar, but the thought is fleeting, replaced by the overwhelming sense of relief that floods through them when they see the huge bird blasted out of the air to land heavily on the ground maybe a foot away, as though it's been shot by some impossibly high-powered weapon.

Brittany leans forward to look at the thing's smoking, charred husk when another familiar voice, this one gentler but no less firm, speaks in her ear. "Don't look at it," the voice says. "Its eyes...they still have power." She only half-registers the feeling of soft, dark hair against her cheek, the hands on her shoulders pulling her back against the bench, tears wetting the fabric of her shirt.

"Familiar," says Quinn Fabray, stepping out of the nowhere from which her voice had first issued, disgust and sadness mingled in her tone. An orb of white light shines, rotating in the palm of one pale, long-fingered hand, illuminating her flawless face, alabaster skin and short pink hair. "Nasty one, too. Held to the bond for a long time."

The stench of burnt feathers hangs in the air. It makes Brittany's head hurt. Tina clutches her arm in a grip of horror, still crying silent tears, shuddering with them, wracked with pain and slowly dissolving panic.

"Belongs to an Old One, most likely. None of them have put so much as a finger out into the world for an age," Rachel Berry says, moving out from her position behind the bench on which Brittany and Tina sit frozen, immobile with shock. She crouches, smoothing her short skirt down beneath her legs, appraising the still-spasming creature with a studied eye and a grim expression. "This is something no one alive has ever seen before. At least, not outside the pages of a Grimoire."

Something wakens inside Brittany at Rachel's words. _Yes. Now is the time._

"Um. Rachel? Quinn?" Her voice feels rusty, like it's been unused for months, sounding strange to her own ears. Her throat works against the dryness that's settled within it. She wants to thank them for saving her and Tina, but there's something tickling at the back of her mind that says it's even more important than that.

"Yes, Brittany?" Quinn responds, tearing her gaze away from the charred familiar. The pink-haired girl's usually intense hazel eyes are soft and kind now in a way Brittany can't recall ever seeing them before. She allows the surprise she feels at the look Quinn's giving her to register before remembering that it's her turn to speak.

She shakes her head, acknowledging the impossibility of what she's about to say and accepting its truth in the same moment. "I've...I've seen... _that -_ " She points at the twitching carcass. " - in a dream. Lots of dreams, actually. I think...I think it saw me too. Could I...I mean, is it possible that maybe _invited_ it here, somehow?"

A wordless conversation ensues between Rachel and Quinn during several seconds of long silence.

"Dreams and doorways," Quinn finally says. "It could have used you as a portal. I'm not saying it _did,_ mind you. I'm just saying...it's possible."

Rachel looks at Quinn, then at Brittany, then back at Quinn. Her mouth is a tightly drawn line of grave concern. Quinn nods in understanding.

"We need to get you out of here," Rachel says, rising from her crouch. "You and Tina both. Don't come back here until we've got a better idea of what's going on – or at least, not without me or Quinn. Promise me you'll do as I'm telling you. _Please._ Okay?"

"I had hoped no one else would get involved in this," Quinn murmurs. The light in her hand spins. "Especially not any of our friends."

"I don't understand," Brittany says in a small voice. "What – what's happening?"

"We don't know exactly. Not just yet. But I promise you, whatever it is, Quinn and I will keep you safe. Tina, too. This whole town is under our protection. It's kind of what we do."

Brittany's eyes go wide with shock and confusion. "What do you mean, it's what you do? Like, _no one_ does this, whatever _this_ is. You...you sing and dance and Quinn hangs out under the bleachers and still gets straight As."

"What she means, Britt, is this: Rachel and I? We're not your average, ordinary small town high school students. Well, we _are -_ sort of," she amends, " - but we're a lot more than that. Let's just leave it at that for now. Like Rachel said, we need to get the two of you out of here."

Brittany glances down meaningfully at the bird, which has now finally, mercifully, gone still.

"And what...what about _that?_ You're not going to – I mean, you _can't –_ just leave it here, right?"

Rachel reaches into the small purse – more of a pouch, really - slung over her left shoulder, retrieving a long, slender piece of white wood that's been sharpened to a wicked point. Brittany notices, but can't quite make out, the little carvings all up and down the thin shaft. She watches as Rachel clenches her fingers around it, and after a moment, it begins to glow with a greenish light. Then, with a grim look of satisfaction on her face, Rachel resumes her crouched position beside the dead familiar.

"Go to your rest, little one. You're finally free."

Brittany can't look away, even as Rachel's hand rises. Even as it falls. Even as the glowing wood pierces the massive bird's chest. Once, twice, three times, with Rachel chanting something low, slow and ominous, like that Black Sabbath song she heard on her father's stereo the other day.

The glow around the wood suddenly turns into a flare, and then both it and the familiar are ash. A breeze picks up, carries the ash away. Brittany could swear she'd seen Rachel make some sort of quick, almost imperceptible gesture with one of her hands, a strange configuration of her fingers, before the wind had come and gone.

Rachel rises again, and Quinn steps over to join her. The hand not holding the glowing ball of light slips into one of Rachel's. Quinn clears her throat, then speaks in a tone of complete and absolute authority.

"It goes without saying that you should tell no one – I mean _no one –_ about what you've seen here. There are things alive in the world that you only thought existed in nightmares and scary movies. I assure you, they are very real and _not to be fucked with._ I trust you understand what I'm saying to you here."

Tina (who had come out of her shock around the time Rachel had done her glowing stick thing) and Brittany both nod mutely, weary with stress and fatigue.

"Then let's go." The ball of light grows, expands, as Rachel takes the other girls' hands and pulls them into it. It quickly becomes large enough to encompass all four of them, and then, without a sound, blinks out of existence, as though none of them had ever been there at all, leaving no trace of their presence.

No trace, that is, but for a scattering of ashes on the wind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 **chapter three**

Rachel turns to Quinn with a puzzled stare. The pink-haired former cheerleader takes grim note of the worry swirling in her girlfriend's eyes, in the set of her jaw, the tension of her shoulders. They've been at this all night, ever since they returned from getting Tina and Brittany home safely (Tina had been so badly shaken that she'd needed some magical assistance in getting to sleep) – poring over one heavy old tome after another, searching countless sites on SpellWeb, the secret magical corner of the Internet, even Scrying into Brittany's dreams as she slept – and still they were no closer to figuring out the origin of the familiar that had attacked their friends at the duck pond.

"I don't get it," Rachel says wearily. She closes her eyes, rubs her hand over them in frustration. It's very late, but Quinn knows that Rachel won't rest until they've found something – _anything –_ that resembles a clue. Something that will set them on the path to determining where the creature had come from, and how it had crossed the Boundary between the Otherworld and their little Midwestern suburb.

Quinn gestures to place a magical bookmark in the Grimoire she's been studying for the last half hour, then crosses the floor of the Berry family's basement to place a comforting arm around Rachel's shoulders. She doesn't like seeing Rachel so frustrated; indeed, she shares her girlfriend's concern. Experience has taught her that encouragement and reassurance are what Rachel needs right now, if a full-blown meltdown is to be avoided.

(And such avoidance is needed: the last Rachel rant had uprooted the ancient tree in the Berry backyard, and it had taken some very careful, precision spellwork to put it back in place and reconnect its gnarled, massive roots to the magical ley lines that run beneath the Lima soil.)

"We'll find something, Rachel. You know we will," Quinn says in her quietest, most soothing voice. "Things like this can't stay hidden for very long. You've sent a message to the Witch Court, right?" Rachel nods affirmatively. "Okay, good. The Mothers will help. This is the most serious breach of the Boundary there's been in, like, a really long time. I can't imagine it's gone unnoticed at Greyhall."

"I would think so, but...I don't know. I just – I just have a very..." Rachel pauses, searching for the right word. "... _uneasy_ feeling about the whole thing. That familiar was a warning. A harbinger. An omen of ill intent. Something in the Otherworld has its eye on our town, Quinn. Something incredibly old, and _very_ powerful."

Rachel shivers, and Quinn squeezes her more tightly. The diminutive brunette smiles at her through her fatigue, then continues, her mind flashing back to earlier that night, in the park.

"I felt the strength of the bond that held the poor thing...it hadn't thought a single thought of its own in hundreds of years, at least. Its mind - its very _soul –_ they were just...burned out. There wasn't a single scrap, the smallest vestige of who it once was, before it was bound. Nor was there any recognizable power signature anywhere."

She inhales deeply, then lets the breath out in a long, slow exhalation. "This isn't anything we've faced before, Quinn. It's darker, more malevolent."

Quinn's mouth tightens into a frown as she carefully considers her reply. She doesn't want to upset Rachel any further, but she knows that what she's about to say has to at least be considered.

"Maybe...maybe we should bring your mom in on this," she begins slowly. "If – if it's what I think it could be, I mean, she could be a big help."

Rachel's pretty face darkens in anger, and Quinn's heart sinks. _Here comes the rant_.

"No. Not Shelby," Rachel says flatly, hopping down from the high bar stool on which she's been seated, abandoning her laptop on the table, and the fifty or so tabs open on the web browser that Quinn can see on the screen. Quinn sighs, watching her girlfriend begin to pace, listening to the way the girl's speech quickens, how the anxiety in her voice rises even as she visibly strains to keep its volume down. "There are any number of other magical practitioners in this town with whom I would consult first. Ryerson, for example – okay, the man's a creep, but he _knows_ things. And then there's Emma. Yes, she's a little skittish, but who _wouldn't_ be, after being held for ransom by a bunch of nasty little goblins?"

Quinn covers her mouth with a hand to hide her smile. That _had_ been quite an adventure.

Rachel stops in mid-pace, cold. She narrows her eyes at Quinn and stamps her foot, crossing her arms and huffing at the same time. "I _know_ you're smiling, and it's _not_ funny. The poor woman had to take seventeen showers to get the stench of those goblins off her! _Seventeen!_ Not to mention the fact that she had to burn everything she was wearing, even her shoes and underwear, and that was her favorite dress!"

Quinn holds her hands up in surrender, though she still can't quite erase the smile from her face. She needs a release from the almost unbearable tension of the last several hours, and if the mental image of the normally very prim and proper Emma Pillsbury being carried out of an underground goblin nest with twigs in her hair and dirt smudged across her cheeks is what it takes, well, so be it. Besides, Rachel had laughed about it too.

"Okay, okay," Quinn concedes. "We'll keep Shelby out of it – _for now_. But if things get to the point where we've tried everything else -"

" _Then_ we'll consider it," Rachel finishes for her, nodding sharply for emphasis, signaling that this part of the discussion was now over.

Quinn's phone buzzes with a text message alert. There's only one person besides her mother who could possibly be messaging her at this late hour.

" _Santana_ ," Rachel says, stating the obvious, unable to keep a tiny note of jealousy from coloring her voice, hating the fact.

Quinn nods, registering that-tell tale off-note, but choosing not to acknowledge it as she pulls up the message. Seconds later, she gasps.

"What? What is it, Quinn?" All jealousy is pushed aside, all fatigue vanishes, when Rachel sees Quinn's pale visage whiten still further.

Suddenly unable to speak, her throat constricting, Quinn can only reply by raising her phone so that Rachel can see it. A gesture later, the image on the screen projects into the air to enable Rachel to read it. Her eyes widen at the words, then squeeze shut as the projection disappears.

Quinn's voice is strangled, broken, barely above a whisper when at last she breaks the silence. Rachel's there, holding her, but she can't feel it. She can't feel _anything_.

" _Beth is missing,"_ she croaks, sobbing, tears streaking down her perfect cheeks. _"_ Who...who would do this, Rachel? Who would take her – and _why?_ "

* * *

 **A/N: Hello everyone! It's been a while since I've updated anything, but there's a very good reason for that - namely, a broken left elbow, which I suffered several weeks ago and turned me from a very fast two-handed typist into a very slow and frustratingly error-prone one-handed typist. This frustration blocked me from writing until now, when I finally decided to just get over it, push through the aggravation and annoyance, and just get some new chapters done, no matter what. I'm still wearing a sling, but I'm committed to doing my best to update things, slowly but surely, as I continue to heal. Please bear with me. In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and if you do (or don't), please review or PM me to let me know. Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 **chapter four**

Brittany lies awake, staring at the ceiling. The bright red LED numbers on her alarm clock glow reproachfully in the darkness of her bedroom, seeming to scold her for not getting the recommended eight hours of sleep needed by the average teenager. She lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing without looking that it is very late, yet also knowing that at this point, the only way she's going to get any sleep is the bottle of sleeping pills her mother keeps in the bathroom downstairs. She doesn't want to resort to that, though; she's afraid of turning over her body's natural processes to a powerful blend of chemical ingredients, of becoming dependent on them just to get through the night.

She tries to do what Santana had always told her to do: close her eyes, breathe slowly and deeply, and imagine a bunch of fluffy, cloud-like sheep jumping over a low fence, one after the other, and count each one as it hurdles the obstacle; but when she closes her eyes, she can only summon up the image of the malignant stare and dark feathers of the bird-thing that had attacked her and Tina in the park. Again and again, she hears its shrill, keening cry ripping through the air as its enormous wings gathers the wind beneath them, propelling it toward them with the pure tone of absolute malice, the desire for their deaths clear in the trajectory of its path. Again, she feels each beat of those wings pummeling the air around her, knocking her back against the hard wooden bench, sees its pointed beak sharp and deadly as a dagger, aimed squarely at her heart, or her head.

She bites her lip to keep the scream that builds inside her from escaping, not wanting to wake her parents downstairs, her little sister across the hall. Bites down hard, tastes blood, the sharp sting of pain. Her hands clench into fists at her sides, the blanket twisted in her clutch, the sheets wet with the sweat of her fear. She is afraid of the bird-thing, even though she knows it's dead, even though she'd seen Rachel Berry – of all people – kill it with an obviously practiced hand and calm, controlled demeanor. Her mind flashes back to the scene, to the determined, yet somehow oddly sad expression on Rachel's face as she plunges the glowing stake into the creature's broad chest over and over and over again.

But there's more to Brittany's fear; she's also afraid of the place where she goes when she dreams, that realm of mist and shadows, of low, murmuring voices and long, wizened fingers tracing along endless lines of strange, blurry text on unrolled lengths of pitted, discolored parchment. She's certain that's where the terrifying creature had taken notice of her, followed her back from its world into hers somehow. She knows instinctively that there are far worse things inhabiting that realm, things that are old and terrible and hungry. Things that had once lived in this world before being banished, imprisoned, locked away in that pale realm of gray and black.

Things that could never - _must_ never - be allowed to cross the boundary between the two worlds ever again.

Brittany shudders in her bed, gripped with dread. She knows that Rachel - and Quinn, too – are protecting her and Tina, that they won't let any harm come to them. She's witnessed what they can do. Their powers are strange and beautiful and completely beyond her comprehension, as far out of her understanding as one of Coach Sue's rants, or Kurt's taste in clothing. Yet she knows that she's brushed up against things in that realm beyond sleep that rival her friends' extraordinary abilities, and then some. Entities that would like nothing more than to rip out and feast upon Rachel's heart, consume Quinn whole.

Making a supreme effort to get her breathing under control, she reaches for her phone and makes a decision. Rachel and Quinn had been very forceful when they'd warned her and Tina not to say a single word to anybody about what had happened; it wasn't something that anyone else could possibly understand, and the fewer people who knew about it, the safer the town would be. That was what they'd said, and Brittany knew that they were right. Yet she also knows that if she doesn't talk to her best friend about it, she'll never sleep again. Santana will know what to do. She's _always_ known what to do, since they were five years old - and she's never steered Brittany wrong, ever.

Her hands tremble as she navigates to Santana's number in her phone's contacts screen. She hopes that Quinn and Rachel will forgive her, but then, she realizes, they'll never know, right? It's not like she'll ever tell them, and she trusts that Santana won't either.

Well, she's pretty sure, at least. You could never be completely certain with Santana. The head cheerleader's temper is legendary in the halls of McKinley High School for a reason, after all.

"Brittany?!" The girl's husky, slightly raspy voice is groggy with sleep when she answers, tinged with annoyance. "What the _fuck_ , Britts? You _do_ know what time it is, right?"

"Hi, Santana. I'm really, really sorry – I just...I really need to talk to someone right now. Someone I can trust."

Brittany wouldn't be able to keep the note of fear out of her voice even if she wanted to, and right now, she wants and needs her best friend to hear it. Only Tina understands her emotions better than Santana, but the sweet Asian girl had been even more shaken and upset than Brittany, to the point that magical assistance had been required to get Tina to sleep – aid that Brittany now wishes she'd accepted as well.

Sure enough, Santana registers the shakiness in Brittany's voice, and it jolts her awake instantly. "Britt-Britt? What's wrong? Talk to me."

Brittany sighs with relief at the concern in Santana's tone. Wing beats echo in the silent darkness she feels pressing down on her.

"Something happened to me yesterday, to me and Tina." she hiccups, still fighting to keep herself under control. "Something, like, really weird and scary. I can't stop thinking about it, Santana. I'm totally freaked out and I can't sleep - and I feel like if I don't talk about it, my head will explode."

"Okay, calm down, Britt. _Focus_ , all right? Focus on the sound of my voice, and _breathe_. Slow and deep, you hear me?"

Santana's voice is firm now, firm and strong. It's soothing and calming, the voice she's using, a familiar tone and cadence, and Brittany tries to draw strength from it. Santana has always shared her strength with her, always been Brittany's rock, a grounding presence whenever she's felt scared or uncertain. She breathes in and out deeply, as instructed, tries to slow the runaway pace of her heartbeat.

"That's better," Santana encourages. "Good, Britt. That's it." She pauses, listening to Brittany's breathing as it evens out. "Now – you think you can tell me what's going on without losing your shit? I mean, I _know_ you've gots a really good reason to be interrupting my beauty sleep here, right? So spill."

"I – I was at the park, feeding the ducks, waiting for Tina to come meet me, and...and all of a sudden I felt this – this _feeling –_ that someone was watching me. I looked up into this tree, and there was this bird - this, like, really huge freaking bird, staring down from the branch where it was perched. It wasn't like any bird you've ever seen before. It was way bigger and darker and its eyes...they were, like, glowing. Glowing with hate."

Brittany stops then, sudden terror welling up inside, threatening to overwhelm her when she closes her eyes and sees the thing staring at her once again, feels the malevolent force of its unyielding gaze, making her want to run and hide, while rendering her completely incapable of movement.

"Britt..." Santana starts slowly, bewildered by what she's hearing. "Birds don't hate anybody. They _can't._ They're just birds."

"That's just it. This...this thing...I mean, it _looked_ like a bird, but it _wasn't_. Not really. It was, like, something _else_. Something made to hold someone else's intent, to act out another being's will. Something only to be used, that had _been_ used for, like, a super long time. A...a _vessel._ "

Brittany claps a hand over her mouth in shock. Rachel had called it a _familiar,_ and somehow Brittany knows that the word she's just used means the same thing. An empty construct, existing only to be filled with its master's desires, to follow its commands without question, devoid of any will or thought of its own.

"Wait, what? Hold up. You're not making any sense. This – this bird that's not a bird is freaking you out because it's _staring at you?_ " Santana shivers. What she's hearing sounds completely batshit insane, and yet...and yet, somehow, she instinctively knows the truth of Brittany's words. "And then what? Tina shows up and scares it away with her streaked hair and Goth-meets-punk-meets-anime outfit?"

She says this last thing because suddenly she desperately wants to make Brittany laugh, needs more than anything to hear a chuckle, a snicker, a guffaw – something other than the naked fear in her best friend's voice. Not that Santana would ever admit it out loud, but Brittany's story was scaring her too.

Brittany doesn't laugh. "No." Santana's heart sinks. "Tina shows up, and...and the thing flies up, way, way up into the air – and then it comes down, down, down, and...and -" she chokes out, the remembered fear almost palpable now, like a thing alive. Like a hand wrapping itself around her throat with easy, but astonishing strength, and squeezing ever so slightly, slowly but surely cutting off her air.

"Britt! Stay with me, Britt." Knowledge flares in her then, an awakened eye in her mind seeing beyond sight, seeing what happened even as Brittany struggles to describe it, gasping on the other end of the line, seeing that what's happening now is also part of the creature's intent. "Don't give in to it. Don't give in to the fear! That - that's what it _wants,_ you understand me? Don't give the fucker what it wants."

"It flies toward us, so fast, so, so fast. And it's beautiful, and it's singing as it flies, and...and I know it's the song of death. It's coming right for us, and I'm screaming, and Tina's next to me, and she's screaming too. Oh god, its beak is long and it's sharp and it's going to kill us! It's going to tear us apart, and I can't – I – I _can't_ -"

Santana is rocked then, feeling the sudden burst of power that had come out of nowhere at that point, the bolt of unnatural lightning that lanced up from the ground to blast the creature from the sky, knocking it to the ground, sizzling, mere feet away from Brittany and Tina.

"Oh my god," Santana whispers, her throat suddenly dry. She sees the rescuers' familiar faces, scarcely believing the image as it forms in her mind. "Quinn?! And Rachel?! What – I don't – Britt, _how?_ "

"I – I don't know," Brittany croaks, spent and weak. The strain of overcoming her fear has exhausted her, and all at once she knows both that she's free of the last of the creature's power, and that sleep will come quickly and easily now. "They saved us, San. They saved us. Quinn...she zapped the thing, and...and Rachel, she..she _killed_ it. Drove a stake right where its heart used to be. I saw it. I saw..."

"It's okay, Britt-Britt," Santana coos through her tears, falling freely and quickly now. She's filled with emotions – elation that the creature's hold on Brittany is broken, gratitude to Quinn and Rachel for saving their friends, weariness at giving so much of her own strength, confusion over the meaning of it all. "It's over now. Go to sleep. It's over. You're safe."

"No, San," Brittany says through a jaw-cracking yawn. "Whatever's happening - it's just the beginning." She yawns again. Sleep is coming fast. She opens her arms to embrace it. She's never felt so tired in her life. "Please...please don't tell Rachel...n' Quinn...I told you...they didn't...want me t' say...anything...please."

"I won't," Santana lies. "You just rest now, and don't worry. I'm gonna protect you, just like always. Okay?"

"Okay. G'night, San..."

"Goodnight, Brittany."

Santana stays on the line for a few moments, listening to her best friend's soft, easy breathing, still crying her own silent tears, before ending the call. She had almost lost her Britt-Britt. Some creepy-ass monster with a thing for old Hitchcock movies had almost taken the most important person in her world, the sweetest person on the planet, away from her.

Well, _fuck that._ If there was one thing that everybody at McKinley knew, it was this: _nobody_ _hurts Brittany._ Ever.

Nobody in this world. Or any other.

Angrily, Santana Lopez - head cheerleader, _true_ star of the Gee Club, baddest bitch in school - grabs a tissue from the box next to her bed (because yes, she's a secret crier, so what?), wipes her face and blows her nose. Then she slams her head down onto her pillow and screws her eyes tightly shut. She needs her rest now more than ever, because tomorrow, she's going to have a little chat with a certain pink-haired, leather jacket-wearing, ridiculous tattoo-having ex-cheerleader and her fun-sized, big-voiced little hobbit girlfriend and let them know that whatever it is they're doing, if it's keeping Brittany safe, she wants in on it.

And that's another thing that everybody knows: what Santana wants, she gets.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 **chapter five**

Cheerios morning practices were always held at an insanely early hour; the girls on the squad all agreed that Coach Sue was some kind of inhuman creature who never slept, never ate, and never, ever stopped thinking of new ways to torture their bodies and shackle their spirits.

(They had absolutely no idea how close to the truth they were.)

Still, it worked to Santana's advantage whenever she planned to confront someone first thing in the morning. She never failed to thrill at the deer-in-headlights look fear and surprise that would animate a formerly sleepy face when she would suddenly appear at her unfortunate victim's locker, her teeth bared in a pleasant, yet predatory smile, to step boldly into that person's personal space and get right into it with them before they could even fully register what was happening. It was a way better pick-me-up than coffee, as far as she was concerned.

And so it is now as Santana lies in wait for Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray to saunter up to the so-called diva's locker. The two lovebirds always stopped there first. Their morning ritual, she knew, would go exactly like this: Rachel will come in bouncing on the balls of her feet with barely contained enthusiasm for the school day with Quinn at her side, holding her hand and gliding through the hallways she once owned as Head Cheerio with the maddeningly calm, cool, flickering glance that took in everyone and everything around her and found it wanting.

 _Well, everyone except Rachel, of course,_ Santana says to herself, glaring at the still unvisited Berry locker.

Rachel would then stop chattering away only long enough to open her locker and gather the books she needs for her morning classes, while Quinn just nods and smiles that annoyingly adoring smile at her pint-sized girlfriend. Then they'll gaze lovingly into each other's eyes for a few seconds before sharing a gentle kiss, causing everyone around them to go _aww,_ drawing a beaming grin from Rachel and an intimidating glower from Quinn, who doesn't really like the attention, but puts up with it because Rachel loves it. At that point, they'll continue on to Quinn's locker, where the pink-haired ex-Cheerio will grab her own supplies before they finally separate to go to their respective homerooms with whispered _I love you_ s and several more cringe-inducing kisses.

It's enough to make a single girl slightly bitter. Especially a single girl who's single because a hobbit stole her girlfriend.

The sound of Rachel's voice precedes her arrival, as it usually does. When she enters Santana's line of sight, she's wearing that horrible unicorn sweater that Quinn inexplicably seems to love, and another one of those shorter-than-a-Cheerio's skirts, which honestly shouldn't even be legal. How the hell does such a tiny girl have such ridiculously long legs?

Not that Santana's noticed or anything. No, not at all.

And then Quinn appears, icy mask firmly in place, tiny gold nose ring glinting in the overhead ceiling lights. She's so freaking beautiful, even with that ludicrous pink hair, that it makes Santana's breath catch and her heart stop for a second. She watches Quinn smile radiantly at Rachel, and it's like watching the sunrise stretch slowly across the sky. Her heart melts a little at the sight. Then Santana remembers how Quinn used to smile at _her_ like that, and her heart and her resolve harden instantly.

"Sup, bitches?" she asks as she steps right in between them. "Don't answer that. I don't really want to know."

Rachel's mouth opens, but Santana cuts her off before she can reply. "Shut it, hobbit. Here's what I _do_ wants to know: what the hell did you guys do to Brittany? She called me up _crying_ way too late last night, and it took forever for me to calm her down and get her to sleep. Now you _know_ that I take a very dim view of anyone or anything that upsets my Britt-Britt, so you'd best get to spilling before I kick both your asses."

"Back off, Santana," Quinn growls. "We didn't do _anything_ to her. Did she actually tell you that? I seriously doubt it."

"Oh, you do?" Santana hisses, not wanting the crowd she knows is gathering around them to overhear. "Well, _that's_ interesting, considering that she was so scared that she could barely breathe long enough to choke out a complete sentence or two – but when she _could_ talk, she clearly and distinctly mentioned both your names."

" _Listen_ , Santana," Rachel whispers sharply. "Whatever she told you – the fact is, we _helped_ her, okay? I'm truly sorry that she was upset, but the situation was such that some distress was unavoidable."

"We don't owe you an explanation, San," Quinn interjects. Her narrowed hazel eyes flash with anger. "This is none of your business. What happened is strictly between us and Brittany. This doesn't involve you. So please, stay out of this."

Santana barks an incredulous laugh. "None of my business? _Bullshit_. Now, you bitches listen to me, and listen well. If it involves Britts, it involves _me_. You understand? Either you tell me exactly what happened – and I mean _everything_ , down to the last detail – or Berry gets reported to the police for animal cruelty. I've watched enough episodes of _Animal Cops_ to know that they don't particularly like people who kill defenseless birds."

Rachel's eyes widen. Santana knows she's got her. She grins in victory.

Then Rachel actually laughs in her face, loud and hard, and Santana steps away in shock. It's like a slushie in the face, a punch to the gut, and suddenly she's reeling.

"You have _no_ idea what you're talking about, Santana. In fact, you couldn't possibly understand any of this. You think you can threaten me? _Scare_ me? Believe me, I've dealt with far worse than you. Things you couldn't even _imagine_. You're about as intimidating as a puppy - which is actually a good thing for you, because I would _never_ harm an animal."

Quinn's eyes are daggers. Her voice is pure Arctic ice when speaks next, her voice low and dangerous, and Santana steps back again. She's heard Quinn angry before, but never like this, and she shivers in spite of herself, even as she tries and fails to match the pink-haired girl's steely glare.

"Stay. Out. Of. This. For your own good, Santana. I mean it."

And with that, Rachel slams her locker shut, causing Santana to jump, which draws a thin, tight and decidedly unpleasant smile from Quinn.

 _When the hell did those two become so fierce?_ Santana wonders, barely hearing Rachel say, "Come on, Quinn. We don't want to be late," hardly registering the pair striding off past her down the hallway, over the pounding of her own heartbeat. There had been something wild, barely restrained, alive in the tiny girl's face, her entire body, something that Santana had never imagined could exist in that small frame. She felt a crackling electricity all over her skin, a strange force that had been coming off Rachel in waves.

The memory that Brittany had unknowingly shared with her comes rushing back into her mind: Quinn, wielding lightning, blasting death from the sky. Rachel, plunging sharpened, glowing wood down, over and over again, into the breast of a thing that looked like a bird, but was not. The creature's beady eyes, glowing with malice even as they glazed over, catching and holding Brittany's in the instant before its demise.

It takes the rest of the day for Santana to decide whether to attend the afternoon's Glee Club meeting. She wants to talk to Rachel and Quinn again, acknowledging that her initial approach wasn't the best one to take; obviously a more conciliatory tone would be needed if she were to have any hope of getting them to let her help in protecting Brittany. The truth was, what she had learned from Brittany had deeply frightened her, and when Santana is scared, she lashes out. It's an unfortunate defense mechanism, and it's also the reason why Brittany, who's always just let Santana be herself, without being bothered by or taking offense to anything she says, is now her only real friend. Deep down, Santana longs to have more real friends, but she's always scared people away with her mercurial moods and hot temper. She's tried to convince herself that Rachel was the reason for her break-up with and subsequent estrangement from Quinn, but in those moments when she's being honest with herself, she knows that she drove the ex-Cheerio away. Maybe this could be a way for her to re-establish her broken friendship with Quinn. Maybe, also, she can finally admit to herself that Rachel isn't her enemy, and never has been.

When she enters the choir room, she notices there's a haunted look in Quinn's eyes, a tired slump to Rachel's shoulders. The two are talking quietly, drowned out by the louder banter of the rest of the New Directions seated around them, but Santana can see that the conversation they're having is pretty intense. Something is _clearly_ up with them. The chairs next to Quinn are empty; that's where Brittany and Tina usually sit. It's a stark reminder of what she knows about yesterday's incident, and how much she _doesn't_ know. How much she desperately _wants_ to know.

She steels herself, taking a deep breath, and takes the seat next to Quinn, causing both Rachel and Quinn to end their conversation and turn their attention to her.

"Look," Santana begins. "I don't say this often – or _ever_ , really – but...I'm sorry, okay? For coming at you guys the way I did this morning. Brittany - what she said? It really freaked me out. I'm worried for her. About her. She's my best friend. My only real friend, actually. If – if anything ever happened to her...I don't know what I'd do." She fights back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, not wanting to show any weakness. "I need to keep her safe. I know you two are protecting her, and Tina too, but I – I can't just sit by and watch things affect her like that without at least trying to do something about it."

"Quinn," Rachel says softly. There's a question in the word. Quinn's weary nod is her only answer, and suddenly Santana feels an odd _shift_ in the atmosphere around them. The others in the room continue to chatter on, oblivious to what's happening in their midst.

"No one can hear us now. Mr Schuester will be here in about five minutes, though, so this will have to be quick. Give me your right hand, Santana. Palm up," Rachel commands.

"Wait, what? Why do you need my -"

"Just _do_ it," Quinn rasps. Santana recognizes this voice: it's the one Quinn has after she's been crying. "We don't have much time. You really want to know what happened? Then prove that we can trust you. Give her your fucking hand. _Now._ "

Wordlessly, Santana acquiesces. Rachel begins to hum, a low, melodious murmur, a chant of slurred words in a language Santana can't understand, yet oddly thinks she should know. Her head spins. She feels woozy, as though the air is being sucked out of the room.

Then Quinn grasps her wrist in an iron grip, and in a movement so fast it cannot be seen, Rachel slashes a single fingernail, somehow as sharp as a razor, across her palm. Instantly, blood wells up from the cut. The scent of copper fills the air between them.

Now Santana cries out in pain, bewildered. "What the _fuck,_ Rachel? That hurt!"

"Quiet!" Rachel admonishes. "Look. Watch. And _see._ Blood calls to blood. Will it answer?"

Santana does as she is told, watches in horror and amazement as the blood in her palm begins to swirl and dance in a strange, hypnotic pattern.

 _Blood answers._

"I knew it." Rachel beams her brightest show smile, obviously very pleased with herself.

Santana feels consciousness slipping away, a strange, half-lit darkness rushing up and around her. Quinn is still holding her wrist. "I'm sorry, San," she hears Quinn say. "We had to know. And now we do."

And then Quinn lets go, and she's falling, falling - Rachel's voice following her as she spirals ever downward, three words loudly echoing in the expanding cavern of her mind:

 _You're a Witch._


	6. Chapter 6

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 **chapter six**

 _You're a Witch._

The words are small, just three syllables in all, but their meaning is as large as anything Santana has ever seen or felt. Their significance overwhelms her, makes her feel tiny, like a speck of dust in a vast, unknowable cosmos. Somewhere, deep down, she'd always known what she was, in a part of her mind that always seemed just out of reach. She'd had moments, seemingly trivial times where it was like a light would flicker on for just a split-second, and then go out again, to leave her longing in the dark. Those moments, when she felt like she knew something she shouldn't, something no one else knew, were few and far between, and never lingered. Oh, but when they happened, those were the times that Santana felt most alive. Connected to the universe through the magic in her blood.

 _You're a Witch._

She is spiraling through her memories, recounting all those fleeting moments when her true nature had revealed itself to her, only to be brutally repressed, stomped down by her overwhelming fear of being different, of being judged by her peers, by society. It was hard enough to struggle with her sexuality, but to be a Witch, too? Yet she knows, just as she had known she must accept being different in that way, that she must accept this difference as well. There'd been no going back after the first time she had kissed another girl. There is no going back now.

 _You're a Witch._

Slowly, the sensation of falling subsides. She begins to feel, instead, that she's floating, steadily gaining control of herself and the forces acting upon her. Her future is not going to be determined by the ignorance and prejudice of others. There are always going to be people in the world who hate and fear what they don't understand. Well, screw them. She's not going to let a bunch of mindless, unthinking sheep control her life, her destiny.

She is Santana Lopez. She is a Witch. And she's going to _own_ it - even if she isn't entirely sure what it means just yet.

Opening her eyes, she sees the faces of Rachel and Quinn, looking at her with worried expressions. Rachel is biting her lip and wringing her hands, while Quinn chews on a piece of her wild pink hair, fraying under the assault of her perfect white teeth. As she comes back to herself, it occurs to Santana that despite the fact that she's been all kinds of awful to the two girls seated on either side of her, they're clearly nothing but concerned for her in this moment, and a pang of shame and regret stabs at her heart.

To Santana, it feels as though she'd been in a trance for a long time, but when she glances down at Quinn's watch, she realizes that it had only been a minute, maybe two.

"Holy shit," she breathes, squinting against the light when her eyes snap open. "That was intense."

As Rachel wraps both of her slender arms around Santana's shoulders, the smaller girl lets out the breath she's been holding in a huge sigh of relief. Quinn covers one of her caramel-skinned hands with one of her own, the pale, creamy skin contrasting in that pretty way Santana's always loved.

"You're back!" Rachel exclaims, brushing at Santana's hair, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "I was beginning to think we might have lost you. I was about to go in after you and pull you out, but Quinn said -"

The pink-haired girl cuts her off with an amused half-smile, loving the way her tiny girlfriend gets so worked up and lets all her feelings out in an animated rush. "I said that Santana Lopez is _way_ too tough to let something like a simple searching spell beat her down."

Santana stares at her for a moment, blinking incredulously. Then a wide grin breaks across her face, and she squeezes Quinn's hand in thanks. "Hell yeah, Q. You're damned right."

 _Whatever the hell a "searching spell" is._

"The shield of silence is about to drop," Rachel advises in a stern whisper. "So I'm going to say this before anyone else can hear, knowing how concerned you are about your rep and all – you're one of us now, Santana, and that means a great many things. Some good, some bad. We will proceed to my house directly after Glee to discuss them."

The sincerity in the smile Santana gives Rachel surprises the smaller girl. No doubt she'd been expecting some kind of snarky comment about her being bossy and overbearing. Santana finds her baffled expression both amusing and endearing. "Yes, ma'am," she replies simply - then, because she just can't help herself, gives a small salute for good measure. "And...thanks."

The air around them _shifts_ again, and all three girls know that they can be heard by the rest of the Glee Club once more. Quinn withdraws her hand with a soft, knowing smile, while Rachel snaps her expectant gaze towards the classroom door.

"Mr. Schuester's coming. It's showtime," she says brightly, and Quinn and Santana laugh at her eagerness for the meeting to start as the curly-haired, sweater vest-loving advisor walks into the room. Rachel quietly huffs, slightly indignant. After all, they should know by now: no matter what else is going on, Rachel Berry is always, _always_ ready to sing.

* * *

After a spirited – and quite successful, Rachel pronounces (despite Finn's continued difficulty with mastering the choreography that Mike and Brittany have already simplified for him) – Glee rehearsal, they split up briefly to gather their things from their lockers and meet up in the parking lot. It's decided that Santana will drive her car and follow Quinn and Rachel to the Berry house, since Quinn's red Beetle doesn't really have enough room for a third passenger.

Santana drums her fingers nervously against the steering wheel of her sleek little sports car, a black beauty that had been a gift from her parents and _abuela_ when she became old enough to drive. Her parents had always used their money to provide her with material things that they hoped would make up for the long hours they spent at work, away from her. It wasn't a substitute for love, though; Santana knew they loved her, even though she thought they didn't always understand her. Being an only child wasn't ever really hard for her, in all honesty. She didn't mind her own company, and Brittany had always been there whenever she really needed someone, even after Tina had come into the picture.

Yes, Brittany had always been there for her, in good times and bad times, through thick and thin. Now Santana was determined to be there for Brittany, to protect her and keep her safe from whatever weirdness had infected Lima. It was what best friends did for each other, no matter what. She hoped that being a Witch would make a difference, whatever kind of power she actually possessed.

She bites her lip and narrows her eyes through the oversized round lenses of her sunglasses at the back of Quinn's car as they zip through the late afternoon Lima traffic, enjoying the rush of wind through her long, dark hair. Not since she joined the Glee Club has she looked forward to anything the way she's looking forward to this.

It's oddly exciting, yet kind of frightening for Santana to finally know for certain that she really does have some kind of paranormal ability. Exciting, because she's always dreamed of finding a way out of Lima, this boring, backward town in the middle of nowhere, and she thinks maybe this will be it; frightening, because she knows it's going to introduce an element of serious danger into her life that goes way beyond the risk she takes almost every day at Cheerios practice. Being tossed up into the air and trusting a bunch of scheming bitches who want nothing more than to take your spot as team captain to catch you is nothing compared to confronting ghosts and demons and who knows what other freaky shit might be out there. Things that can, like, suck your brain out through your eyeballs, or rip your soul away from you as easily as tearing a sheet of paper.

The slowing of the red VW in front of her jolts Santana from her dark and slightly grisly thoughts, and both cars slide gently into the Berry driveway. She finds that her palms are sweaty, wipes away the perspiration on her black skinny jeans, adjusts the zipper on her snappy red jacket. There's not much in this world that can intimidate Santana Lopez, but she finds herself feeling strangely out of her depth. This is not her territory. It's Rachel's, and Quinn's, and they hold all the power here.

She takes a deep breath, frowns at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, at seeing her internal worry clearly showing on her face. This is a turning point in her life, she realizes. Once she steps out of the car, her feet, in their insanely expensive killer heels, will be set on a path that's completely different from anything she's ever known. She'll never admit it - not to the tall, pink-haired former cheerleader and the petite diva emerging from the car in front of hers - but she's actually scared, even shaking a little. Brittany's memories, unbidden, flood back into her mind, and she shudders at feeling the same helplessness, the same crushing fear, that her best friend had felt when that psychotic bird-thing had come flying at her face.

It's that fear, ultimately, that cements her resolve, guides her hand to the handle of her car door, opening it to a world that's both seductive and terrifying. That fear is the reason she lifts her head defiantly and murmurs to the wind, _Bring it, bitch, whatever the fuck you are,_ as she steps onto the black gravel and walks with all the confidence she can muster towards the two girls who stand waiting for her. That fear is what she never wants Brittany, or Tina, or anyone else, ever to feel again. If she can play any part in preventing that from happening, she'll do it to the best of her ability.

Rachel wraps her in a hug. She stiffens at first, then returns the embrace. _Blood calls to blood, and blood answers._ Magic sings in their veins. Santana surrenders to it, melts into the smaller girl's arms. Nothing has ever felt better than this, she thinks. In this moment, she realizes that she now has sisters who would die for her, for whom she would die, gladly and without hesitation.

What was the line from that song Rachel had sung with Kurt, another lifetime ago?

 _Something has changed within me. Something is not the same._

It's true.

Quinn smiles a gentle little smile, looking at the two girls sharing this profound moment of bonding. She remembers what it was like for her.

Rachel steps away. Her grin is absolutely radiant. She's actually glowing. The skin on her face shimmers with a faint sheen of perspiration. Quinn's breath catches. Her girlfriend has never looked more beautiful, she thinks.

And Santana, too, is flushed, her flawless skin darkened with additional color. She's dazed by the power of the connection she's just experienced. Her knees are a little shaky, but she refuses to give in to the impulse to reach out and steady herself against Quinn's shoulder. Quinn knows this, of course, and reaches out instead, also knowing that Santana will seek her out later to whisper a quiet _thanks_ when Rachel's not around.

"Welcome to my home, Santana," Rachel says around her smile. "Come on, let's go inside. I have a wide variety of snacks and drinks on hand, and a living room that features the most comfortable couch ever made."

"That sounds good," replies Santana, drawing out the _o_ sound. "You know why they say these shoes are _to die for?_ Because if you wear them too long, they will _kill_ you." She winces as the other girls laugh, then laughs at herself for showing her weakness, for not caring at all that she's done so.

Quinn inserts herself between Santana and Rachel, placing an arm around each of them, planting a light kiss on her girlfriend's cheek. "Lead the way, Rachel," she says wryly, a sardonic smile quirking her lips upward. "I believe the couch is calling someone."

They get inside, and Santana immediately tests the veracity of Rachel's claim about the living room couch, plopping herself down onto it with a _whoof_ and tossing her folded sunglasses onto the coffee table as she sinks deeply into the plush cushioning.

"Damn, short stack. You weren't kidding about this couch. I may never get up again."

Quinn's laughter carries from the kitchen; Santana swears she can actually _hear_ Rachel's frown. "Believe me," Quinn says, amusement in her light tone, "Rachel's not going to let that happen. She'll levitate you right off that couch if need be. I'm not even kidding. Trust."

Santana's eyes pop open, as wide as they've ever been. "She can do that?"

"As a matter of fact, I can, should the need arise," Rachel confirms, bustling into the living room with a large serving tray laden with plates of cookies and crackers, bowls of chips, and three tall, empty glasses. "And Quinn can, too. So while this couch is indeed amazingly comfy, we are not going to remain seated on it for very long. We have many things to do while we begin your education on what it means to be of the Witchblood."

Santana groans and rolls her eyes playfully at the petite diva's words. _Apparently she's going to be just as bossy about this as she is about Glee,_ she thinks.

"Yes, I am," Rachel says, offering Santana a plate. "Cookie? I baked them myself. Chocolate chip."

Quinn covers her mouth with a hand, trying and failing to stifle a laugh, while reaching for a cookie with her other hand.

"Oh, _hell_ no!" Santana exclaims in horror, fixing Rachel with a look of alarm. "Please tell me you did _not_ just read my mind. That...that's just all kinds of wrong."

"I did not, Santana. You projected your thought without meaning to do so. This is because you don't yet know how to shield your mind in the presence of other Witches. That's just one of many things you'll need to learn if you hope to develop to your full potential."

"At least it was a relatively innocent thought," Quinn says, seeking to console the mortified cheerleader. "You should have heard what Rachel picked up from me the first time we trained together as Witches. She'll never let me live it down." She shakes her head ruefully, biting into a cookie.

"And rightfully so, Quinn! It was an exceedingly inappropriate, although extremely flattering, thought," Rachel huffs, turning to Santana, who looks back at her with a confused expression. "There we were, in the middle of our very first lesson in the Witchlore, and suddenly she's picturing me wearing – _ouch!_ "

"Sorry for the shock," Quinn says, watching her girlfriend with icy eyes as she rubs the sore spot on her arm where Quinn had zapped her with a tiny spark of lightning. "Well, no, actually, I'm not sorry. Santana _really_ doesn't need to know about that."

"I suppose not," Rachel grumbles, clearly unhappy at not being allowed to finish what Santana is sure would have been a pretty funny, not to mention embarrassing, story.

"You brought glasses, but it looks like you forgot to bring the drinks along with them," Santana observes, considering the items on the serving tray that's been placed on the coffee table, next to her sunglasses. "Better go get 'em before Q zaps you again, Berry."

Rachel brightens, forgetting to be offended by the use of her last name in addressing her. "No need, Santana. Watch."

Several blurred movements of a delicate hand and slender fingers later, one of the glasses fills with a dark liquid. Rachel smiles as the glass rises from the tray, floats over to where they sit.

" _Voila,_ as they say. One carbonated cola beverage for you. Quinn tells me it's your favorite, despite the many deleterious health effects associated with its consumption."

Closing her hand around the floating glass, Santana gasps - it's _cold,_ as though the drink inside had just been poured into it from a bottle right out of the refrigerator.

"If the guys on the football team knew you could do that, you'd be invited to all their parties," she tells the beaming girl. "How long do you figure it would take you to refill a keg of beer?"

Quinn laughs. "She would _never._ That would be contributing to the national scourge that is underage drinking, don't you know?"

"Oh, hush, you," Rachel admonishes, though there's no real bite in her tone. "To answer your question: it would take considerably longer. Beer is more complex, what with all that alcohol to manipulate."

"Right...I'll just forget you said that." Santana sips from her glass, eyes widening as the fizzy beverage slides past her tongue and down her throat. "Wow! This tastes just like Coke. I'm impressed, tiny."

Rachel beams even more brightly at the words of praise even as she dismisses them. "It was nothing."

Quinn gestures, and another glass fills with a clear, sparkling liquid, nodding with satisfaction as she watches the thousand tiny bubbles within rise to the surface, bursting when they get to the top. "I've never been a cola girl. It's lemon-lime for me," she says airily.

The last glass fills at another gesture from Rachel. The liquid is dark, but lighter than Santana's. As it floats over, Santana looks at the smaller girl with a question on her lips.

"Iced tea," she shrugs. "Complete with ice."

"Show off," Quinn teases. "It's not easy to create ice at room temperature, but Rachel is sickeningly good at climate manipulation. As she is at most things."

Rachel drinks from her glass, then sends it back to the tray, watching it land safely, as though it were a tiny airplane setting down its wheels at JFK International. A cookie floats up from the plate and into her hand. She smiles sweetly at Quinn as she takes a bite of it.

"This is all pretty cool, but somehow I'm guessing you didn't bring me over here for party tricks."

"Got it in one, S. Bonus points for you!" Quinn chuckles. "Yes, you're right. As cool as this stuff is, it's really just the tiniest fraction of what we can do. We showed you this as a way of demonstrating what magic really is."

Santana finally takes a cookie off the plate, moans with pleasure as the flavor explodes on her tongue. "My mother would kill for this recipe," she mumbles while chewing. "Seriously, she would."

Rachel smiles at the additional praise, then takes on a more serious expression. "This is the part, Santana, where you ask us just what magic really is, as Quinn said."

"Oh. Well, then. So just what _is_ magic, really?" she replies, trying to match Rachel's serious tone and failing.

The girl stands and draws herself up to her full height, which shouldn't be imposing at all, since she's barely over five feet tall - yet Santana shrinks back, suddenly daunted by the sight. Quinn takes in her friend's reaction, amused once again. Rachel's flair for the dramatic actually _does_ have its uses.

"Simply put, Santana: magic is the imposition of one's will upon the world's natural energies. We of the Witchkind are the foremost practitioners of this art, this most highly advanced skill. With proper study and training, a powerful Witch can work wonders, create marvels the likes of which you've never seen. But if a Witch turns her powers to...shall we say, less than benevolent ends, then she can wreak havoc and destruction beyond anything your darkest nightmares can conjure. There are laws in the Witchlore that mandate the capture and imprisonment of any Witch who is found to be practicing magic for evil purposes. This sacred task is entrusted to two of the most powerful Houses in all Witchkind."

Rachel nods to Quinn, who nods back at her. Santana watches in silence, mesmerized. She couldn't take her eyes off Rachel even if she wanted to.

"House Fabray. And House Berry. We are the protectors of all Witchkind, even those who don't know they are of the Blood. It falls to us to ensure that the practice of magic is done within the bounds of the Accords, which are the supreme law among all Witches. Think of it as our equivalent to the Constitution of the United States, only it binds Witches all over the world. We act not only to protect our kind, however, but to protect _all_ living things from those who would misuse their gifts and seek to cause harm to others."

She pauses. Her glass of iced tea floats over to her, ice cubes still perfectly formed. She takes a sip, lets the glass float back to the tray, then continues.

"There is something going on here in Lima. Obviously, you're already painfully aware of that. What we don't know yet is exactly who – or what – is responsible for the attack on Britt and Tina. We've been trying to figure that out since the night it happened. We think it might be something very old, and very powerful. And _extremely_ dangerous, to all of us."

Quinn slides over, closes the distance between herself and Santana. "That's why we didn't want you to be involved in this, Santana – at least not until we were sure you'd be able to understand what's happening, and that you'd be able to defend yourself against a magical attack long enough to get away. Brittany's natural goodness is a sort of defense in itself, but that kind of pure spirit is very, very rare. That's why she was able to survive what happened. However, none of us here have that same purity of spirit, so we need to be able to fight off such attacks more directly."

"And that requires training," Rachel nods, affirming her girlfriend's cautionary words. "And study. And, most importantly, it requires that you _stay out of harm's way_ whenever the next attack comes – and it _will_ come, I assure you. Quinn and I have the training, the study, the experience and the power to fight against whatever our adversary chooses to throw at us. _You_ don't. Not yet. And maybe not ever. We still don't know what you _can_ and _can't_ do, which is why we need to get started on your training as soon as possible."

"You understand what we're saying, right?" Quinn asks, taking one of Santana's hands in her own. "We don't want to see you get hurt trying to do something you're not ready to do. If and when something happens, you need to get away, get to safety. If not for your sake, for ours. For Brittany's. _Please._ Okay?"

Santana closes her eyes, inhales deeply. She holds the breath for a few seconds, then lets it out with a great sigh. Images of dark wings slicing the air towards Brittany's head, her bright blue eyes glistening with tears, wide with terror, play in her head like the scariest movie ever.

"No. Whoever, or whatever, went after Brittany...they made it personal for me when they did that. I can't just sit back, or run and hide, if they do it again. I _have_ to fight. You get that, right? I _have_ to. She's my best friend. I...I can't lose her. You know that."

Quinn shakes her head. Rachel purses her lips in disapproval. "We understand how you feel, San – but we would never forgive ourselves if anything happened to you. You're family now. Please say you won't do anything to put yourself in danger," Rachel pleads, worry plainly evident in her large, dark eyes.

Quinn scoots even closer. She feels Santana trembling with barely contained fear and anger, the two emotions that have always been closest to the surface for the girl, ever since Quinn has known her. Then she plays the trump card, the one that carries more power than any other.

"For Brittany's sake," she says quietly. "Think about it, San. Think of how she would feel if...if the worst were to happen. If we couldn't save you. Do you think she'd be able to handle that?"

Santana gasps, as though she's been struck. Her eyes narrow with fury. Quinn knows there's a good chance she could be slapped hard across the face in the next fifteen seconds or so, feeling the rage boiling up inside her volatile friend.

And then she deflates, like a punctured balloon. All the air, all the fight goes out of her, and she sinks bonelessly into Quinn's gentle embrace.

" _Fuck._ That was a low blow, Fabray. Like, really low."

"I know, San. And I'm sorry." Quinn's voice is a low, somber whisper. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She hates having to hurt her friend like this, but there's nothing for it. Santana can't protect Brittany if she doesn't take care of herself first. Simple as that.

Rachel resumes her seat at Santana's other side, listens as the two other girls cry softly. Her own eyes glisten, though no tears fall. Quinn, Brittany, Santana...these are her sisters. There's nothing in this world, or any other, that will keep her from defending them. Even if the all the gates of all the Hells there are were to open at once, Rachel knows that she will stand against the darkest of tides, oppose the greatest of evils, and turn them aside.

This she swears. And a Witch's oath is not something to be taken lightly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 _ **chapter seven**_

Friday nights in Lima are generally boring, lazy affairs as far as the young people in town are concerned. It's the kind of place where there's very little to do, and seemingly way too much time in which to do it. For some, the preferred activity falls under the category of 'getting in trouble' – and there's nobody more dedicated to (or better at) that activity than Noah "Puck" Puckerman, the New Directions' very own self-proclaimed "bad boy."

Puck's the kind of young man who's smart enough to know that the things he's doing are probably wrong and won't lead to any good, but dumb enough not too think about those facts for too long. He's all fast-twitching muscle and slow-firing synapses, looking for the next good time and not the least bit concerned about where he might end up afterwards. Like some of his bros on the McKinley High School football team, he's on the cusp of manhood, but he's not getting there without kicking and screaming all the way.

On this particularly dreary (very) late Friday night, there's a light rain falling as Puck and his on-again, off-again friend Azimio Adams find themselves aimlessly wandering around the streets of Lima, bored and in search of something, _anything,_ exciting to liven things up. Azimio had been Puck's last hope, after all the Glee Club guys had said no. He had failed to convince, in succession, Finn, Sam, Matt and Mike to hang out, and even _Artie_ had wimped out on him. They'd all cited stupid reasons not to go out - homework, siblings, family time and other bullshit stuff. Since when was a freaking _history project_ cooler than hanging with the Puckster? The worst, though, was when Lauren frickin' Zizes had just laughed, long, hard and loudly, before hanging up on him. _That_ humiliating little episode had put him off calling any other girls – not even one of the usually reliable Cheerios - and in a really bad mood.

And when the Puckzilla is in a really bad mood, trouble is pretty much inevitable.

"This _sucks_ , man," Azimio grumbles, looking up at the rain falling through the street lights. "Why'd I let you drag me out in the rain like this? I ain't tryin' to catch a cold. Coach Bieste will _kill_ my ass if I get sick with the Carmel game comin' up."

"Relax, dude. You're not gonna catch a cold. You're gonna be fine. Jeez, it's just a little rain. Don't be such a wuss," Puck answers back, rolling his eyes. For all his bulk, Azimio is really kind of delicate. It would be funny if it weren't so lame.

Azimio growls menacingly at him, then voices an idea. "Let's get something to eat. Ain't there a pizza place somewhere around here that's open late? I could use me a slice or four."

Pizza _does_ sound pretty good, but he's not quite ready to give up on his goal of doing something spectacularly stupid tonight. "I think so – hey, wait a minute. Check this out," Puck says, stopping short in front of a jewelry store window. "See that necklace? My mom would love something like that."

"So would mine," Azimo shrugs. "But you know that the both of us put together don't have half of what that thing costs. See that price tag, fool? Shit, we probably don't even have a _quarter_ of that."

There's a devilish gleam in Puck's eye as he runs one hand through his Mohawk haircut and a smile Azimio's seen way too many times spreads across his face.

"Who the hell said anything about _buying_ it?"

Azimio backs away, his hands raised in the traditional gesture of surrender. "Oh _hell_ no, man. I ain't doin' nothing like that. You wanna try, go ahead – it's _your_ sorry ass life – but I got me a scholarship I'm tryin' to earn, and I am _not_ gonna mess that up. My mom and dad have been workin' too damn hard to end up blowin' their money bailin' my fool ass out of jail. I'm out."

"Aw, come on, Az, don't be like that. You know the cops in this town are morons, and they're all old and out of shape besides. They'd never catch us."

"I only see _one_ moron around here, and that's _you_ , Puckerman. D'you seriously _want_ to go back to juvie? _I_ sure as hell don't. Once was plenty enough for me." He pauses, seeing that his words aren't registering at all. A different thought occurs to him, and he starts again. "What would _Berry_ think if you fucked up like that again? You wanna disappoint your Jewish princess? Huh?"

Puck's face falls, and his eyes drop. It's rare to see the self-proclaimed badass look ashamed; Azimio is one of the few who's ever seen it. He knows it's a low blow to use a guy's feelings for a girl against him, but despite the fact that they haven't always seen eye to eye, he considers Puck to be a friend, and he really doesn't want to see him mess his life up.

"That's cold, dude," Puck says quietly. The silence stretches between them, and Azimio knows he's finally gotten through. "You're right, though. I can't let my Jewish princess down. Besides, she'd never let me hear the end of it anyway."

"For real," Azimio laughs, feeling relieved when Puck laughs along with him, shaking his head. " _Damn,_ but that girl can _talk_. I don't know how y'all put up with that."

"Yeah, she _does_ talk a lot. But you know what? She's usually right." The rain has turned to mist, but the late night chill has grown decidedly colder. They pull their McKinley Football jackets more tightly around themselves. "Let's get the hell out of here and find some pizza."

"Yeah, man. Sounds good."

They laugh and bump fists, and with that, the two young men stride down the street, quickening their pace as a stiff breeze suddenly kicks up, blowing mist into their faces. The moon stares down, silent and impassive in the increasing haze.

The wind grows stronger and colder, knifing through their jackets. The mist thickens.

"Damn, it's cold," Puck mutters into the chill. "Was it _supposed_ to be this cold tonight?"

"I don't know, man. All I know is, I'm _freezing_ all of a sudden. Maybe - maybe we should just get back to your truck and call it a night?"

Puck frowns. He doesn't want the night to be over without at least using his fake ID again to score some more beer. The ones they'd already downed earlier in the evening, sitting in the truck, hadn't been nearly enough for him.

Then he hears it: a strange, keening, moaning sound, like the plaintive howl of a dog baying at the moon, and yet not like that at all. It's lower, throatier, like the creak and rasp of an old door opening. There's something _wrong_ in it, a note of mocking laughter, and it's got the hair on the back of his neck standing up. The air is suddenly electric, and the wind continues to swirl and moan around them, making the leaves and branches in the trees lining the sidewalk tremble.

"Dude! You hear that?" he shouts, not at all sure that Azimio can hear him. He can barely hear himself. He's a tough guy. He hasn't been afraid of anything or anyone since he was ten years old, when his dad left and he became the man of the house. But now he's shaking, as the moan becomes a shriek, and the mist becomes a fog so thick he can barely make out the lumbering, stumbling form of Azimio in front of him, trying and failing to move forward in the face of this wind that's come out of nowhere, battering them with invisible fists, to get through this rain that's become a swarm of tiny, icy needles jabbing at their skin.

A shadow stands before them. A shadow that looks vaguely human, but not; the head is the wrong shape, the limbs too long, too thin. The hands have too many fingers – no, they're not even fingers, really, they're more like claws, like _talons_ , made to rend and tear and shred soft, pitiful human flesh -

Puck's paralyzed, frozen in place. He wills his feet to move, to leap, to run, anything to get himself between the shadow-thing and his friend, but they remain exactly where they are, no matter how loudly his brain screams at them to _just please fucking GO -_

And then they _do_ , and he's moving, he's moving faster than he's ever moved before, faster than he ever was on the football field, cutting through the wind and the rain and that goddamned fucking horrible _sound -_

Azimio screams in terror as the shadow thing smiles a gruesome red-fanged smile. _No, don't, PLEASE – Hang on, man, I'm almost there!_

The shadow-thing's single gray eye opens, fixes him with a terrifying stare. "You're...next," it says, in a hollow voice that sounds like bone being ground to dust, "Child."

Color returns to the world in an explosion of red, blinding Puck in jagged streaks. Azimio sinks to his knees, then slumps to the ground, his large body impacting against the sidewalk without a sound. The creature's smile widens. Bright crimson stains the concrete, pools outward to collect at the shadow-thing's feet as it raises an impossibly slender arm to show Puck the flopping, beating thing it holds in its clawed hand.

Bile rises in Puck's throat. He stares without seeing through tears mixed with rain at the blurred shadow-form grinning obscenely at him. The beating thing in its hand falls, landing with a soft _plop_ next to Azimio's head. Rage floods through Puck's body, fills him with the desire to punch, to kick, to pound and strangle the creature as it laughs at his helpless anguish. And just as he lifts a foot to step forward, to confront the demon and bludgeon it into submission with his bare hands, something yanks him back, an invisible force coming from a direction his muddled senses can't identify.

 _Stay back, Puck,_ the voice of Rachel Berry commands, loud and urgent, reverberating in his skull. _Trust me – you **can't** fight that thing._

And somehow she's there, standing next to him with Quinn Fabray standing on his other side, both wearing grim, determined expressions. He has no idea how they got there, how they knew what was happening. In his shock, he has very little idea of anything. He's delirious with grief, overdosed on adrenaline, and still longing desperately to punch something.

Quinn spares a glance down at the mangled form of what was once Azimio Adams, then looks over at Rachel, who nods affirmatively at her unspoken question. She takes a deep breath, holds it, then exhales as she sends out a thought.

 _Santana!_ _ **Please**_ _tell me you're still down in Rachel's basement, like we told you to be. I'm opening a door and sending Puck and Azimio that way._

The dark-haired Cheerio jumps in fright when Quinn's urgent communication crashes into her mind, so loud it's like the girl had just shouted at the top of her lungs directly in her ear.

 _Ow! Jeez, Quinn – I'm still new to this telepathic shit. Wait, what? Puck...and Azimio? What the fuck?_

 _There's no time to explain, San. Door's opening **now**. Pull them through, then the house is on lockdown. Full protection spell. Got it?_

An oval-shaped blue glow suddenly appears right in front of her, and Santana's so startled – despite the warning - that she nearly falls off her chair. The portal grows taller and wider, and a clearly disoriented Puck steps through, pulling the prone, ruined form of Azimio by the arm after him. Smears of crimson paint the floor as Puck drags the body along, before collapsing into Santana's arms. His grip on Azimio's wrist loosens, and the arm drops weightlessly, hitting the floor with a loud _smack_.

The presence of Quinn's mind in hers is gone, and Santana immediately feels helpless and overwhelmed. She doesn't have the first clue as to what she should do, struggling to hold an unconscious Puck upright. Somehow, she manages to maneuver Puck into a large, soft chair, then gasps in horror at the sight of what's been done to Azimio.

"Oh – oh my God, Azimio!" she cries. She wants to pass out too, like Puck, just lose consciousness, hoping somehow that when she wakes, none of this will have happened, that it will all turn out to be just a horrible, horrible dream. Yet she knows she can't escape the terrifying fact of what's been done - or the fact that Rachel and Quinn are out there somewhere, facing down whoever or whatever it was that's responsible for it.

She remembers what Rachel had told her just a little while ago, the words echoing now in her mind:

 _You're in this now, for better or worse. That means you're going to see a_ _ **lot**_ _of terrible, awful things. Stuff that's worse than any nightmare you've ever had. Being a Witch means seeing evil as it really is, looking straight on at the darkest, sickest, most vile things in existence. Confronting living incarnations of malice, of hate in its purest form, and staring it right in the eye without flinching or turning away, saying, ' **No more. This is where it stops.'** It might happen today, next week, or next month – but it __**will**_ _happen. And that's what we need to prepare you to do, as fast as we possibly can, because that's the_ _ **only**_ _way you'll stay alive._

She sinks to her knees, crying, the tears freely flowing down her cheeks, off her face, landing on the floor to mix with Azimio's blood. Malevolent magic pulses in the appallingly open wound, filling her nostrils with its awful scent. It's making her sick, nauseous. Fever blooms in her skin. And as she always does when she feels like this, she thinks of the one person who can calm and soothe her. The only person in this world who completely understands her, who knows her inside and out.

 _ **Brittany! I need you!**_

And halfway across town, Brittany wakes from her dream, screaming Santana's name and shocking Tina, who'd been sleeping deeply beside her, from her own.

"Baby?" she asks, groggy but concerned, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes. "What - what's wrong?"

"It's Santana," Brittany groans, searching the floor of her darkened bedroom for her jeans and T-shirt, scattered hours earlier, before they'd made love for the first time since the incident in the park (which Britt remembers, subconsciously, and Tina does not). "She's in trouble. She needs us."

"Not _us_ , Britt. _You_. She always needs you," comes the reply, sharper than intended.

"No - _us,_ " Brittany corrects firmly. "It's gonna take both of us to help her with this. Come on, get dressed. And yes, I know it's four in the morning. I don't care. Get up."

Tina lets out a groan while Brittany pulls on her T-shirt. Normally, she likes it when Britt's wearing just a T-shirt and no pants, but not now.

"All right, all right. I'm getting up. Where...where _is_ she, anyway?"

"She's at Rachel's house. We need to get there right away." Tina's own jeans and T-shirt land on the bed, where Brittany has tossed them. "Something bad has happened. Something really, _really_ bad."

Gathering up her clothes before stepping into Brittany's private bathroom, Tina pauses when a thought enters her mind. "Wait – how do you know...are we doing this just because you had a bad dream?"

Brittany shakes her head _no_ in reply. "I only _wish_ it was a dream. Now come on. Go to the bathroom and whatever, get your clothes on and let's go."

Tina sees the fear in the blonde Cheerio's eyes, and the depth of it shakes her to the core. She nods and steps into the bathroom, shivering at what she saw reflected in those eyes, those beautiful blue orbs that she loves so much. Whatever's going on has made Brittany more afraid than she's ever been in her life, clearly, and Tina wonders just what they're about to walk into. She also wonders, yet again, what this strange connection between Brittany and Santana is, and why it seems to have become so much stronger lately.

She shrugs. Now is not the time for wondering. She has to believe that no matter how strong this – _whatever it is_ – between those two is, it's not stronger than the relationship that she and Brittany share.

It _can't_ be.

* * *

"Who are you?" Quinn shouts over the wind at the grinning shadow. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

The shadow-thing says nothing. Its only answer comes in the form of a single long, deadly talon raised to its obscenely smiling mouth, rows of razor-sharp, needle-like teeth glinting in the cold moonlight, drops of red falling, falling. The sidewalk is awash with blood, littered with crushed bone and pulped flesh.

" _Name yourself,_ demon," she commands again. "I call you to account for the evil you have done here. You, and whichever master or masters you serve, whose bidding you have carried out this night."

The appalling grin spreads wider still, and a long, thin tongue the color of ash snakes out between those long, thin teeth, gleaming shards of violence in the mouth of a black abyss, to taste the blood and ruin, gorge itself on pain.

Quinn's about to try once more when the creature's voice slices through the wind like a blade through paper. She barely suppresses a shudder at the terrible, rasping sound of its mirthless laughter, like stone scraping against stone.

"I...? I...am...the avatar...of...murder. The first..and final...author...of the book...of pain. Inscriber...of names...on...black pages. Poet...of...your doom. Your screams...will be...my most exquisite...verses...yet...child."

Rachel blinks disbelieving eyes at the thing standing before them. She recognizes the creature; she's seen its picture in an ancient text. This is Samargauth, oldest of all the Old Ones. A power unseen on Earth since the very first time that Witches had set themselves against Demons with the fate of the world in the balance. A being so ancient, so powerful, that human minds could scarcely comprehend its existence. An entity that has not stood upon mortal soil in at least a thousand years. Her mind reels in shock. Never has she even imagined coming face to face with something like this.

These creatures were known by many names among those of the Witchblood. Whispered names, spoken only when there was light, never in the dark. Names that evoked dread and terror among young and old alike.

The Fear that Walks. Mind-Tearers. Soul-Renders. Shadeborn. Dusk Lords.

 _Outcast._

Banned and banished forever, imprisoned behind a thousand times a thousand walls, both physical and mystical. Locked away with a key forged by the power of a hundred Witches of legend - the Sisterhood of the Centenary.

 _And yet one is standing right here in front of us. How is this even happening?_

"My...Queen...sends me...with...a message...for you," the thing grates. "The...fall...of...the Houses...of Witchkind...is upon...you. Pledge...to...serve her...and you will...live. Oppose...her...and...you will... _die._ Most...painfully. She...will extend...this... _offer..._ only...once."

Rachel reaches, finds and squeezes Quinn's hand. The Old One is immensely powerful, but together, they're a match for it...they hope. The dagger she clutches in her free hand glows with eldritch light.

"You _know_ our answer, Outcast," she says. Her voice is strong, clear and defiant, ringing with the power of more than a thousand years of Witchkind history. The sorcerous power in her blood kindles like a flame within her, singing to be released. "It is the only answer, the same one the Great Houses gave you when you horrors first found your way to this world by the paths of Shadow. Now _away_ , thrice-damned! _Away,_ before we destroy you as completely as we destroyed your King in those last days of war, an age ago. Surely you have not forgotten? Or do you seek to be reminded?"

Samargauth hisses with loathing, but flinches almost imperceptibly. The girls' Witchborn senses, however, perceive its fear quite clearly. They see, too, how much it hates that awareness of its fear. Yet it has its own brand of pride, and they know it will not depart quietly.

"I...seek...nothing...except your... _destruction_...foolish child! Now... **DIE!** "

It raises a clawed hand, and a burst of shadow-spawned force explodes out towards them, bursting apart when it impacts against the shield they've raised against it. The sheer force of it drives Rachel to one knee, gasping. Quinn stumbles backward. Doors splinter, shop windows and streetlights shatter. The ground quakes as the dark magic is repelled, scorching every surface it touches – grass, wood, metal, asphalt, concrete. Nothing around them is left unscathed by the devastating attack. Fortunately, the protection charm they've cast over the area means no one can see or hear anything that's happening. They'll return everything to its previous state once they've defeated Samargauth – if they can.

The shadow-demon's power is appalling in its sheer brutality, its pummeling, pounding strength, and for a moment the Witches' resolve nearly falters – but only for a moment. They are the daughters of House Berry and House Fabray. They are Witch Hunters, and now they know the enemy they face.

The Shadow Queen has risen – she who had been struck down from the Witch Throne for practicing unspeakable sorceries and allying herself with demons (along with her late, unlamented husband, the Warlock Sire), now returned to exact her promised revenge against all Witchkind for his death, and her banishment to the Dusklands. Such was her power that it could only be weakened, diminished, but not fully taken from her. The last words she spoke before being sent into exile had been a vow that she would one day return to wreak havoc and destruction upon the world that had scorned her.

Beginning right here in Lima.

 _Not if we have anything to say about it!_

Samargauth's assault continues unabated, even as Rachel's mind scrolls back through every lesson she ever learned about the Shadow Queen and her demonic minions. Scores of Witches and their eldritch allies had been lost in the terrible war that had nearly doomed the entire earth. The Old Ones had dealt out out much of that death, and Samargauth more than most. Entire branches of both Berry and Fabray ancestors had been wiped out back then, slaughtered like sheep at the creatures' cruel and vicious hands.

With a thought, Quinn and Rachel's shield grows ten strong arms wielding ten great swords, slashing and stabbing through the Dusk Lord's defenses, slicing through the creature's form in a hundred places or more. Purple ichor oozes from those cuts, eating like acid through the concrete, creating black holes wherever it lands. Its talons grow longer and sharper, trying to jab holes in the girls' shield, break through their swords. Its face changes shape, grows a long, pointed beak that's shattered by the flat of two blades striking it at the same time.

"Fools! I was...ancient...before...time!" it rasps, even as its attacks weaken under the onslaught of the Witches' sustained offensive. "You...cannot hope...to stand...against...me!" It gestures with a clawed hand, and the ground beneath them _flows,_ softens, so that Quinn and Rachel suddenly find themselves sinking into it. The distraction causes their attack to slow for a split-second, and the shadow-demon takes advantage, striking a savage blow.

They scream in agony when Samargauth's power touches them, ravaging their bodies and souls, leaving them heaving and breathless. It's like being struck by the lightning of a hundred storms at once, shocking all their nerves and organs simultaneously, turning their minds inside out.

Quinn recovers first, sees the beast readying another strike. _Rachel! It's going to -_

The blow lands, and the pain is even worse this time. Only one of the truest Witchblood could possibly withstand being blasted by the power of one such as Samargauth, and the blood of their Houses is truest of all, but still – they can't take much more of this. The creature feeds on their agony, draws strength from it, hammers them with yet another blow. Their shield cracks, and pieces of it fall away.

"Yes! YES!" the shadow-demon cries in exultation, drinking in their pain. "Let the music...of...your...fall...echo..down the hallways...to...the very...throne room...of...the Twilight Palace! Great...shall be...my reward...when my Queen...revels in...your demise!"

Battered, bruised and bleeding, eyes swollen nearly shut, bones fractured everywhere, barely able to move or think, somehow, the daughters of House Berry and House Fabray stumble somehow to their feet, feed power to their shield just barely in time to deflect yet another murderous blow. _Goddess - this hurts!_ Rachel's thought is weak, barely audible in Quinn's mind. _We've got to end this fast, or we're done...and so is the world. Lima's just the start of it._

 _Not gonna happen,_ Quinn replies. _You know what we need to do._

They concentrate, and their very beings merge, become one, joining on an aetherial level far beyond anything any other pair of Witches could ever hope to do. Slowly but surely, their shield grows larger and stronger as they will themselves to overcome their fatigue and pain, and soon it becomes all but impenetrable. Their combined power gathers in the center of it, building and building, even as the Old One throws one mighty bolt after another at them, only to see them shred, fall apart against the shield.

"No...NOOO! I...was...promised...my Queen...she PROMISED!," the demon shrieks, its voice now a high, thin wail. "She...said...I would...flay the flesh...from your...bones...make rings...of your spines! It...was...PROMISED! I...was...to be...your...DEATH!"

" _All_ of your Queen's promises are lies. Sad you still haven't learned that, monster." Quinn grits out through clenched teeth against the searing, lancing pain in her side, where she has at least two, maybe three broken ribs. It's agony to breathe, much less to speak, yet somehow, she finds it within herself to scream out in defiance: "Now – go – back – to – HELL!"

"What she said," Rachel gasps, almost too weak to stand, but still determined to put everything she has into what they hope will be the final blow. She releases the dagger from her hand, and it flies up into the shield's center, pulsing with power. Then, with the flick of a finger, the blade launches itself at Samargauth, First of its Kind, into its open, screaming maw – and the demon's form tears itself apart, a conflagration of blue fire consuming it from the inside. The single eye melts down its ruined face, its claws wither into gnarled, impotent stumps, and the charred, shriveled thing that Quinn can only guess might once have been its heart floats in the air by itself for a few moments before finally crumbling to a pile of ash no larger than an ant-hill, the ensorcelled dagger lying exposed in the middle of it.

* * *

At a weary, crooned note from Rachel, the blade floats serenely back to her hand, and with a gesture, she incinerates the small mound of ash in a blaze of blue fire that lasts barely a second. The dagger hums sleepily in contentment, its hunger for demon blood finally sated. This was one of the two remaining Tempest Blades, instruments of the greatest working of Witch-magic ever done. The others were all presumed to be lost or destroyed in the War, and with the fashioning of the Thousand-Walled Prison, it had been thought they would never be needed again. Rachel had called them from the Witch Hold itself, where the Queen herself sits upon the Throne of the Goddess' Palm, when she'd realized the true nature of the evil they faced.

The weapon had been crafted in another time solely for this purpose: to kill and utterly destroy demons, even ones of the oldest blood, like Samargauth. Indeed, both girls, in later years, will recall with grim satisfaction the way the Dusk Lord's single eye had widened in disbelief upon recognizing what was being wielded against it. The one who had created it had done so with extraordinary care and skill, and at such terrible risk to herself that many had urged her, warned her – even begged her - not even to attempt it, so perilous was the magic involved. And as they had all feared, the crafting did in fact change her, warped her into someone far different than who she had been before, and what had been her House's greatest pride became its greatest shame.

Quinn had refused even to touch the one that was meant for her. She would not say why, furiously shaking her head _no,_ leaving Rachel puzzled before they'd left the house, after they'd made Santana promise to stay behind.

She remembers the words she was told as a little girl, when her mother had related the tale to her one night in the darkness of her bedroom, at just that moment before sleep had claimed her:

 _To destroy dark magic, one must first touch dark magic – for only in knowing the truth of it can it be vanquished entirely. That is the danger of being a Witch: in opposing evil, in looking at it so closely, you place yourself at great risk of becoming the very thing you oppose, to be destroyed in the end by that which you had sought to destroy._

"The only good thing you ever did, great-grandmother," Quinn whispers hoarsely as the wind dies down. She knows that Rachel won't hear, distracted as she is by the necessary wrapping and careful securing of the dagger in the pouch slung over her shoulder – otherwise she would never voice the Fabray House's darkest, most closely-kept secret. It's the only thing she's never shared with Rachel – the only thing she's ever felt the need to keep from her. Even the Annals, the massive tomes within which the whole of Witchkind's history are recorded, do not contain the truth, having been altered by the most powerful memory spell ever cast. To this day, no one outside of House Fabray knows the real story of the forging of the greatest weapons ever held by a Witch's hand – and though it pains Quinn to withhold anything from the girl she loves more than life, she's determined to keep this secret to the end.

For who could love someone whose great-grandmother had killed a Queen with a weapon meant to slay demons, all in a foiled attempt to put her own daughter on the throne?

"Quinn?" comes the gentle voice as the familiar pair of strong, yet gentle arms gingerly wrap themselves around her waist. She loves the feeling of comfort she always gets when Rachel holds her like this, the other girl's head leaning against her back as she speaks softly. "Are you all right? We need to go. The reversal spell's already done its work, but...there's another problem."

Wiping a tear of frustration from her eye, Quinn grimaces in pain when she straightens up. Her ribs are still knitting themselves together, thanks to the healing magic in her blood; already her face no longer shows any sign of the titanic battle they've just won. She knows that Rachel's healing too, thank goodness. They'll wear the scars of this fight on their souls forever, though, along with all the others they've accumulated. It's just part of what it means to be a Witch Hunter.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm fine, love. What's the other – oh, wait. Let me guess. _Santana._ "

"She called Brittany, mind to mind. Quinn, she's scared witless. She had no idea what to do when we sent Puck and – and Azimio – through to her, so she did the only thing she could think of, the thing she's always done since they were little. She called Brittany, and now -"

"Now Britt – and probably Tina, too – are outside the house wondering why they can't even step onto the driveway."

Quinn sighs. She had hoped Santana would be able to maintain the cool confidence she had exuded in those last moments before they'd left her, but no. Well, she supposes she can't be _too_ hard on the girl – after all, she hadn't exactly been the epitome of calm herself the first time she'd seen the remains of a victim of dark magic, either. This is not the kind of life in which one can be shielded from harsh realities, and honestly, the sooner one _is_ exposed to them, the better. It's a painful lesson, but one that will make Santana stronger, if she responds to it the way Quinn expects she will.

"And we still need to figure out what to tell the police, and...oh, goddess, Azimio's _family,"_ Rachel says, choking back a sob and flinging herself back into Quinn, who holds her with one arm while raising the other to gently stroke a hand through Rachel's hair.

"I know, sweetheart...I know," Quinn responds in the softest, most soothing voice she can muster. "Hey, hey, listen...one crisis at a time, right? Isn't that what you always say? Of course, you _usually_ say it about Glee rehearsals and math quizzes, but still..."

Rachel laughs a broken little laugh, then breaks from Quinn's grasp to smack her pink-haired girlfriend's arm lightly. " _Damn it_ , Quinn. Why do you always insist on making me laugh at the most _inappropriate_ times?"

Quinn shrugs. "It's who I am. It's what I do." She grabs Rachel's hand, squeezes it. "Now come on. We need to get back to the house, let Brittany and Tina in and give them the short version of what's happened, make sure that Santana's all right, then get Puck and Azimio's body back here and call the police." The gears in Quinn's mind are spinning quickly now, and a thought comes to her. "We'll tell them that Azimio was hit by a car. Yes, that's it. A car that sped by so fast, Puck couldn't even get the license plate number or even see what kind it was."

"And then...Azimio's family?" Rachel asks, her voice sad and weary. She's so tired that she can't even try to hide her exhaustion from Quinn, as she usually does.

"I...I think we'll leave that to the police. And Puck can talk to them, too, once we've got the proper memories in place." Quinn pauses, waits for Rachel to nod in agreement with the plan. "I envy him, you know. He'll never remember what really happened tonight."

"He'll still need a lot of help, though," Rachel observes. "True, he won't recall the actual events, the real horror, but in the end he'll still remember seeing a friend die in a horrible, violent way."

Quinn's expression is sad as she considers Rachel's words; Puck had been something more than a friend to her once, a long time ago. She still cares for him, but her heart has always truly belonged to Rachel.

"Santana will be there for him," she says as the portal she's just opened floats silently in the air before them, waiting for them to step through. "We _all_ will, as far as that goes. And we'll need to watch him carefully. When non-Witches come in contact with dark magic, the after-effects can be unpredictable. I _think_ we got here in time to shield him from overexposure, but we can't be too sure."

"You're right," Rachel agrees, primly smoothing her skirt down across her tanned thighs. Then she steps into the portal that will take them across town and back home just as a new thought pops into her head, a question that's finally made its way to the front of her mind after being pushed the back before the battle.

Quinn sees the other girl's eyes widen when the thought hits home, and she knows that can't mean anything good. It never does. "Rachel? What's wrong?"

Rachel's voice is low and shaky, filled with the worry that neither of them has dared to voice until now. "Quinn – I know you've thought of this too, but...how did an Old One, let alone Samargauth itself, escape the Thousand-Walled Prison and come here to Lima? That...that's supposed to be _impossible_ , and yet...and yet it happened."

"I don't know," admits Quinn. "That's been bothering me from the start. But we'll figure it out, right?"

"Of course," Rachel says, forcing a smile. She knows she's not fooling Quinn with it for a second, but it makes her feel a tiny bit better anyway. "Of course we will."

Then they step into the portal, and it winks out behind them. The wind is silent as they go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 _chapter eight_

Santana was a mess, to put it bluntly. She was absolutely frantic, with the lifeless body of Azimio Adams sprawled out on the Berry basement floor at her feet, and an unconscious Puck completely unresponsive, even to repeated hard slaps to his cheek. Hugging herself against a chill that ran up and down her spine and wouldn't stop, she screwed her eyes shut, struggled badly against the impulse to scream. Holding it back meant sobbing uncontrollably instead; she found that to be preferable, knowing that if she started screaming, she likely wouldn't be able to stop. A part of her knew that Rachel and Quinn wouldn't have left her with this burden if they hadn't absolutely had to do so, but another part of her couldn't help but be angry with them for it.

When she blinked to clear away her frightened tears, angrily wiping them away with fingers whose nails she had bitten since the two more experienced witches had left to face who knew what, Azimio's sightless stare seemed to admonish her for her anger. It took real effort for her to tear her gaze away from those accusing orbs; she felt as though they were somehow looking into her soul, judging her, and finding her lacking in some way. At least Puck's eyes were closed. The boy's tall, muscled frame was awkwardly splayed out on a rolling office chair, his limbs all sticking out gracelessly at odd angles. It had been quite a struggle for her to half-drag, half-lift him up off the floor and into the chair, especially when the damned thing kept rolling away from her, but she'd felt an absurd sense of pride when she'd finally succeeded.

After a seemingly interminable length of time, which she'd spent huddled with her knees against her chest on the couch, watching to see if Puck would finally awaken so that at least she could share her terror with someone, Santana suddenly became aware that the magical shield surrounding the house had disappeared. Her mind punctuated its abrupt absence with a cartoon _pop_ , and her tense, aching limbs finally relaxed. She felt like a punctured balloon, all the air slowly being let out of it, until only a limp fragment remained. She hadn't even known she'd been holding her breath for the last couple of minutes; somewhere in the back of her mind, the battle between Rachel, Quinn and some kind of horrible monster had been pounding at the base of her skull, and with her friends' victory, the need for the protective shield was gone. She realized that its presence had blunted her awareness of what they had been going through, and for that, she felt wearily grateful.

With that awareness came the sound of two insistent pairs of hands banging at the front door and repeatedly ringing the doorbell, accompanied by the desperate, worried voices of Brittany S. Pierce and Tina Cohen-Chang, filtering through the basement windows.

"Santana! Santana! I know you're in there!" she heard Brittany cry, and Santana's heart ached at the pure, palpitating fear in her best friend's hoarse, raspy voice. _I bet the two of them have been out there for hours, ever since R and Q started fighting that – that whatever it was,_ she thought. "Are you all right? Please, open the door!"

Santana pushed herself up off the couch and stumbled up the stairs. She struggled for a moment with the tightly shut basement door, cursing her shaking hands as she fumbled with the doorknob. When she finally got it open, she dashed into the kitchen and through the living room to get to the front door. Her head pounded in time with the ringing doorbell.

"All right, all right, I'm coming!" she yelled, dimly aware that they couldn't possibly hear her over the cacophony of the doorbell and their own shouting.

The front door opened to reveal Tina's finger was hovering over the button for the doorbell, about to strike, both of Brittany's clenched fists an angry red from her repeated blows against the heavy wood. Their faces were streaked with tears, their eyes swollen and puffy, rimmed with pink. Santana thought they looked exactly how she felt: like they'd been turned inside out and back again.

" _SANTANA!_ " screamed Brittany, launching herself at the exhausted Latina as though she'd been fired from a cannon. The tall blonde cheerleader buried her face in Santana's neck, crying once again into her dark hair, hugging her so fiercely that Santana thought she might break a rib or two, but her best friend didn't hear her gasp of pain. "OMG, San, we were so worried about you! I woke up with this horrible, sick feeling that something really, really bad was happening and that you might be in danger. So we rushed over here, but then we couldn't get near the house - not onto the front lawn, not into the driveway, the backyard, anywhere!" She stepped back, releasing Santana from the embrace, giving her a much-needed chance to breathe. Brittany wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her Cheerios jacket, she continued, "It was like there was an invisible wall around the whole place, so Tina and I just yelled and yelled and yelled, but we couldn't even hear ourselves. It was like our mouths kept opening but no sound was coming out."

"It was really weird," Tina confirmed, nodding. Strain and worry showed in her slightly rounded face. She forced a tiny smile that looked more like a grimace. "Like a force field. We'd walk forward, and it would throw us back. We just kept bouncing off it over and over again." She paused, shaking her head, her shiny black hair brushing across her shoulders. Santana recognized the smiley-face T-shirt the tired Asian girl was wearing as one she had given Brittany the previous year, but quickly hid the frown from her own face. "I'm just glad it dampened the sound – otherwise, Rachel would have some _really_ angry neighbors right about now."

Santana had to smile the thought of Rachel casting a protection shield over the house every time she felt like belting out a song. That was probably the only reason her dads had never been sued or threatened with a call to the cops due to excessive singing of show tunes.

Tina shut and locked the front door, then looked around curiously with a puzzled expression on her face, realizing that they were apparently alone in the house. "Hey, where _is_ Rachel?" she asked. "Is Quinn with her? Have you heard from them? Are they OK?"

Closing her eyes, Santana reached out with her thoughts, searching for the thread of connection that now bound her to the diminutive diva and her elegantly beautiful girlfriend, and couldn't quite stifle a gasp when she felt how weak and ragged the two witch hunters were in the aftermath of their battle with the elder demon.

"What's wrong?" said Brittany, immediately placing a concerned hand on one of Santana's slumping shoulders. "You look a little sick. Should I get you some water or something?"

"No, no," Santana waved away her concern, gesturing for Tina to stay where she was. "I'm...I'm all right. Just tired. It's been a long night. Rachel and Quinn...they're okay. Hurt, aching, banged up, but okay."

" _Hurt?_ " Tina gasped. One hand flew to her chest, coming to rest over her heart. Confusion and concern showed in her dark eyes, the tense set of her jaw. "Why? And how do you know that?"

"Santana has...kind of a connection with them, like I have with her," Brittany explained, saving Santana the trouble of explaining Witch magic to Tina. "She can kind of get a sense of where they are and what's happening to them, if she thinks really hard about them, or if they're thinking about her."

Frowning, Tina turned her gaze from Brittany to Santana. "Like some kind of psychic thing?"

Questions swirled inside her, questions that made her stomach tight and her spine shiver. She feared she wouldn't like the answers to any of them, but she feared not asking even more. Ignorance was probably not bliss in this situation, and in most cases, Tina preferred knowing things to not knowing them.

Helplessly, Santana spread her hands and smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but in her bone-deep exhaustion, she stumbled over her words. "You could...I guess you could say that. In a way, I mean." She fired off a curse in her head when she saw Tina's frown deepen, and began to mentally prepare herself for a slew of questions from the inquisitive girl. Anyone who had ever been in a class with her knew that Tina Cohen-Chang was all about the _why_ of things.

A sudden, loud _thump_ sounded from the basement, followed by a distinctly male shout of startled surprise, cutting off the discussion before it could start. Santana lowered her head and screwed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger and wishing that the pounding in her goddamned skull would stop for two seconds so she could collect her thoughts, because she _so_ did _not_ want to explain what they had all just heard without Rachel and Quinn present.

"What the _fuck?"_ came the anguished cry up the stairs. Why hadn't she thought to close that door behind her? "Where the hell _am_ I? And why is Azimio on the floor?"

Both Brittany's and Tina's jaws dropped at the sound of Puck's voice, and his name came out in a choked cry from both their mouths. Tina leveled a glare at Santana that she knew meant _We are_ _ **so**_ _talking about this later,_ while Brittany's blue eyes welled with tears once again.

"Yeah, about that," Santana began with a nervous laugh. "I can explain. You see -"

Brittany flew past her in a blur of pale skin and blonde hair, Tina trailing behind, a shadow in the house of light. Santana sighed and took a step into the living room when the front door opened and Rachel stepped through, followed by Quinn, both dirty and dusty and looking very much like they'd just been through a war - which, she reminded herself, they had. She took in the shocking sight of the two experienced witches barely standing before her, leaning on each other for support, all bruised and battered, with cuts and scrapes in various stages of magically induced healing evident everywhere that skin was exposed, and her heart broke for them, knowing instantly what the battle had cost them.

She wanted to comfort and console them, to mend their wounds and complete the healing they so obviously needed, both physically and emotionally. She wanted to lay them in their soft beds and bring them warm broth and cold compresses and tell them how much she had feared for them, how worried she had been, waiting here all alone for them to return, not knowing if they'd survived, or if – well, the alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

Instead, all she could think of to say, looking at them now, their normally gorgeous hair and beautiful clothes all disheveled, torn and tattered, was this:

"Couldn't you guys have gotten here just a _minute or two_ sooner?"

Rachel was just about to let fly with a sarcastic reply when she heard the sound of Tina's scream emanate from the basement, followed by a shrill, sad wail that could only have come from Brittany.

Quinn hung her head. "Oh, no."

"Oh, _yes,_ " Rachel sighed glumly. "No rest for the weary. And I am _really_ weary."

"What, should I _not_ have let them in after the protection spell went down?"

"I know you're being all defensive now," said Quinn, "because you've just spent a bunch of time more or less locked in a basement with a corpse and a basket case, going out of your mind with worry for us - and we really _do_ appreciate the concern, by the way – and that's just what you do when you feel a little overwhelmed, but could you save the lashing out for a time when we're slightly less dead on our feet?"

Santana blushed at Quinn's chastisement. Quinn had always possessed an uncanny ability to see through her bluster to the real emotions that moved her to act as she did; no matter the situation, Quinn was able to get to the heart of things with surgical precision, sharp and swift as a scalpel. It had been that way for as long as they'd known each other.

"Yeah, well – we've got a situation in the basement that needs attention. Three situations, actually, by my count," Santana replied. "Tina and Britt, number one. Puck, who's finally awake, number two. And the little matter of Azimio Adams' not-so-little body lying on the floor of your dads' basement, Rachel, looking more than just a tad gutted. So I'm thinking it would be a _capital_ idea for us to get down there before we have three exploded heads to clean up. And by that I mean, like, _right now._ "

The trio of witches trudged down the steps to the basement to find Tina and Brittany holding each other and weeping over Azimio's body while Puck stood off to the side, looking like he was just barely keeping himself together.

"Rachel? Santana? Quinn?" he listed their names in a numb monotone, looking at each in turn, as though he was just connecting their names with their faces for the first time. "Tina? Brittany? What...what are you all doing here? Whose house is this?" He gestured with his head to the body of his fallen friend. "Is he...is he...dead?"

"Yes, Puck," Rachel said gently, her voice low and soothing. "You're in my basement. Quinn and I brought you here after you and Azimio were...you were in an _accident_."

The tall, Mohawk-haired boy's eyes were glazed, unfocused, as he looked at her. Then they widened as the memory of the terror he had endured when the elder demon had manifested. He slammed his eyelids shut and covered his face with both hands, strangling a cry of anguish at the remembered horror of witnessing Azimio's murder.

"NO!" he shouted, his voice filled with anger and misery. His eyes shot open and he leveled an accusing glare at Rachel and Quinn. " _No –_ there wasn't – _he_ wasn't. Oh God, oh God, _fuck,_ it's still out there! It's still out there, and it's going to kill me too! Me, and you -"

He pointed at them, then at Santana, Tina and Brittany, his voice raspy, his throat burning with rising bile. "- and you and you and you too! Why – why are we all just standing around here? It - it's gonna _find_ us! It's gonna find us, and then – _and then_ – oh God." His hands flew to the sides of his head, to his temples, as though he was trying to keep his brain from exploding. "We need to get out of here. We need to bury him, like, in the backyard, and then we need to just get the hell out of here, go someplace, somewhere it can't find us!"

Tina stepped away from Brittany, whipped her head around to Puck and then to the three witches, who all wore sad, mournful – yet strangely unafraid – faces. Her own expression was angry and confused, a mix of fright and exhaustion.

"You three," she said, pointing an emphatic, black-nailed finger. "You need to explain what's going on here, _now._ Otherwise I'm going to call the police and let _them_ sort it all out."

"Tina!" exclaimed Brittany. "Calm down, okay? Fighting among ourselves isn't going to help anything."

"Calm down? No, I don't think so. Look around you, Britt." Tina sharply bit off each word, growing more furious by the second, waving her hands around in agitated fashion as she spoke. " _Look!_ Puck is terrified, Azimio is _dead,_ and the Unholy Trinity over here obviously knows why - but they don't want to tell us anything. Why? Why do you think that might be, Britt?"

"Hold up, goth wonder," Santana barked. "These two?" She gestured to Quinn and Rachel. "They're trying to _protect_ you here. In fact, they're the only ones who _can._ If it weren't for them, you'd be -"

" _If it weren't for them,_ " Puck interrupted, "Azimio would be _alive_ right now! He'd be alive, and he'd be, like, sleeping off all the pizza and beer we were about to have when he...when _it..._ aw, shit..." He broke down, hiding his eyes, his breath coming in great, heaving sobs.

Brittany went to him then, wrapping a consoling arm around his shaking, trembling shoulders, trying to comfort the obviously traumatized boy, whispering _It's okay, it's all right_ into his ear, over and over again.

"Tina, listen," Quinn began, pleading for patience and calm in the increasingly tense and fearful atmosphere that had come to dominate the room. "It's complicated. There...there are _things_ happening in this town, things you can't understand. Britt had us...she asked us to dampen your memory of the incident in the park the other week, but now I think –" She let out a long, low sigh. "I think maybe we shouldn't have done it. If we hadn't, you'd be able to put what happened tonight in context -"

"Context?" Tina laughed. "In what _context_ is the death of one of our classmates and the traumatizing of one of our friends acceptable? Reasonable? Understandable? Let alone the way Quinn and Rachel look right now." Her eyes softened as a horrible thought came to her. "OMG – he...Azimio...he didn't...he didn't _hurt_ you, did he? Santana said you'd been hurt, and I didn't put two and two together, because math is _not_ my friend right now, but -"

"Baby, _don't,_ " Brittany said, looking up from where she crouched next to the still-sobbing Puck, who had gone down to his knees. " _Please_. You don't know what you're asking."

"No, Britt. It's okay," said Rachel, somberly. The damage had been done, and it was bad enough. The last thing anyone wanted was to make it worse. "Tina is right. She deserves to know. We didn't want you to be a part of this. We didn't want Puck, or anyone else, to be a part of this. We even tried to keep Santana away from it, but – well, it's too late for any of that now."

Quinn looked at Rachel with a question in her beautiful hazel eyes. Rachel answered with a slow, tired nod. Santana stared at the two of them, bothered by the way they had closed their minds to her for this private, wordless conversation.

She was surprised when the pink-haired former Cheerio turned to her. "Santana. Show her."

"Wait, what? _Show her?_ I don't know what you're -" Santana tried to protest, but of course she knew instinctively what Quinn was asking of her. _Blood calls to blood, and blood answers. You're a Witch. You know what to do._

"Yes, you do. Consider it a test." Quinn's voice was calm, but there was iron in it. She was imposing her will, and Santana found that she could not deny it. "Now go on. Take Tina's hands."

The Asian girl was transfixed, truly not understanding what was happening now. All of her righteous fury was gone now, replaced by a queasy feeling of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She'd always liked to think of herself as someone who didn't scare easily, but deep down, she was truly frightened at this moment, all the way down to her very core.

Santana stepped over to where she stood, and without a word, she offered her hands to the Cheerio. Gazing at the Latina's lovely face, she wondered not for the first time how it was that Brittany had chosen to be with her and not Santana. The girl's beauty was absolutely stunning, and she found herself drowning in the deep, rich darkness of Santana's eyes, lost in the richness of her smooth caramel skin, the fullness of her red lips...

When Santana's hands closed over hers, she barely felt it. And then she heard the other girl say three words in a voice she'd never heard before, and felt a shiver run down her spine at the power in them, thrilled at the sensation. She felt hot and cold at the same time, pleasure and pain in the words, in her body's reaction to them.

" _ **Remember**. **And** **know**."_

 _Something twists in her mind then, like a key in a lock, and the memory of rustling wings and malevolent avian eyes blooms like a dark flower. She cries out, tries to pull her hands away, but Santana's grip holds fast. New images flood her consciousness: Puck and Azimio on a Lima sidewalk, talking and laughing; a cold wind blowing; a sharp, sickening feeling of something terribly, horribly wrong taking shape before them, a creature conjured out of nightmare, a thing beyond comprehension. She sees the black-robed, long-boned figure of Samargauth, an Elder Being, a demon from a place that is not anywhere a normal human could ever imagine, reaching into Azimio's chest, watches the life and the light drain from the football player's eyes. She hears the Old One's laugh, the rasp of stone on stone, feels Azimio's lifeless body slump to the ground, sees Puck's shock and horror as he confronts the certain knowledge that he is about to be the next to feel that killing touch._

"Make it stop," _she whispers. Tears stream down her face. Her body trembles. Santana holds her up with implacable, unyielding strength, refuses to let her fall._ "Please. I don't – I don't want to know any more. I – I can't!"

 _She is very dimly aware that Brittany is calling to her, shouting her name, pleading with Santana to stop, begging Rachel and Quinn to make her let go. She knows, somehow, that her friends are sadly nodding_ no _,_ t _hat Puck is retreating further and further into the recesses of his mind, trying to block out the reality of what she's now witnessing, the truth of his own scarred memories, that Brittany is crying again, that Santana is too._

 _Santana's eyes hold her, keep her upright by sheer force of will, and Tina is astonished by the strength, the determination, the passion in her. She feels the same things emanating from Rachel and Quinn, realizes that they're sharing what energy they can with Santana, marvels at how extraordinary these people are, wonders how she never realized it before._

 _She sees Quinn and Rachel arriving on the scene, too late to help the fallen Azimio, watches as the two girls place themselves between Puck and the horror that's threatening to destroy him as easily as it had destroyed his friend, shares the feeling of nausea that fills Puck's innards at the sight of the thing, the overwhelming relief when they magically transport him and Azimio's body back to Rachel's place, where Santana waits and worries. Her body quivers as she sees the battle unfold, feels the sickly power of the elder demon battering the two Witches – yes, she knows that's what they are now, them and Santana – feels her blood recoil from its corrupting touch, flinches at the hurt inflicted upon Rachel and Quinn, again and again and again, hammer blows of appalling power. Her heart sings when she sees the weapon pierce the demon's bone-white flesh, soars as its vile essence is scattered to the winds after the purifying fire reduces it to ash._

"It's done," Santana said blankly. "And now you know."

With that, Santana finally let her hands fall to her sides. Brittany caught her when she fell, the sound of wings beating faintly sounding in her ears as blessed unconsciousness claimed her at last.

* * *

"You did well," Rachel said when she awoke a few minutes later. "The fainting was to be expected, yes, but I wasn't actually sure you'd be able to handle the entire memory."

Tina groaned at the sound of the girl's voice. Pain pulsed behind her eyes, and her tongue felt rough and dry. Her limbs were heavy and achy; Brittany was holding her upper body off the floor, while her legs were folded beneath her, as though she'd fallen to her knees and then tumbled backwards. She was tempted to ask what happened, but held back when she realized she already knew. Magic had touched her, and now she would never be the same again.

A red plastic cup suddenly hovered in front of her face, held by a pale alabaster hand, its form elegant and perfect. Quinn's. "Here. Drink this."

"What is it?" she asked warily, suddenly realizing that she could no longer see these people that she loved as friends so deeply in the same way ever again. There would now be an undercurrent of something else – Awe? Fear? Some combination of both, perhaps? - beneath that love forever, because of what they were and what they could do.

They were Witches. They were power. They were what stood between the world and the darkness that hungered to swallow it whole. She had seen it, and wished she hadn't.

"Something that will make you feel better, silly," came Brittany's voice from behind her, and she had to smile, because that was what Brittany's voice did for her. She felt the tall blonde's hand squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, and with a nod, she took the cup and drank from it...

...and was surprised to find that whatever it was didn't taste bad at all. So much for the fairy tales in which the witch's brew was always some kind of horrible, disgusting concoction that smelled vile and tasted worse.

"Not bad," she admitted, gulping down the last of the cup's contents, pleased to find the pain behind her eyes already receding, the heaviness in her limbs fading away. "Tastes...fruity. Like lemon-lime or something."

"Sprite," Rachel said brightly. "Or, more accurately, the beverage produced by _actual_ sprites. Hard to get, since they're very shy around humans. You have to work a bit to gain their trust, but once they accept that you're not out to hurt them, they're quite sweet, and very generous."

Tina looked into the empty cup, then at Santana, who shrugged as if to say, _Don't ask me._ Rachel just smiled, while Quinn beckoned for Tina to return the empty cup for a refill. The pink-haired girl took the cup, made a quick, almost imperceptible gesture over it, and handed it back. When Tina looked into it again, it was full of the sweet, refreshing liquid once more.

"Okay, how did you – wait, no, never mind. I _know_ how you did that. I saw it... _before_. You...the three of you -" she paused to sip at the delightfully fruity drink. "You're Witches. Sorceresses. Practitioners of the Mystical Arts. Oh my God, listen to me." She smacked one palm against her forehead. "My life has now become an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer._ And I used to _love_ that show."

"Except Lima is way lamer than Sunnydale," Santana remarked, drawing a look and a raised eyebrow from Quinn. "Oh, come on, Q. You know it's true. Their principal was much better than Figgins, for one thing."

"Can't argue with that," Brittany said, nodding. She pressed a kiss to Tina's temple, then wrapped her arms under her girlfriend's and around her chest. "Feel like you can get up now?" When she nodded in the affirmative, Brittany hauled them both up with the strength that never failed to both arouse and frighten her a little.

"It's good that you're up," said Rachel. "After two cups of sprite juice, you'll need to be able to move fairly quickly. It has an unfortunate tendency to go right through you."

Tina's eyes widened, and then she felt an uncomfortable pressure in her lower abdomen. "Oh, God. Rachel, where's your -"

"Right up the stairs and to your left."

"Thanks. I am _so_ getting you back for this someday, by the way."

"Noted."

Tina hurried up the stairs without another word, leaving the rest of the girls to look at Rachel with expressions of amusement (Santana), curiosity (Quinn) and confusion (Brittany). The diminutive witch smiled sweetly at each in turn, then said, "What?"

"You did that just to put off explaining what we've done with Puck," Santana observed.

"I felt there was a need to create some separation between the memory projection and the teleportation," Rachel replied, shrugging. "There's only so much a human mind, even one as bright and perceptive as Tina's, can handle in a short period of time."

"I feel really bad for Puck, though. And Azimio, too," Brittany said sadly. "So is Tina."

Santana stepped over to the chair now occupied by her best friend, where Puck had sat before. "I know, Britt-Britt. We're sad, too. Puck, though – he's got a soft heart underneath his hard shell."

"Like a crab?"

"Exactly. Like a crab." Santana smiled at Brittany's delightfully childlike way of getting to the essence of things. "So we had to protect it as much as we could. That's why we replaced his memories of the fight with the demon and sent him back to where Rachel and Quinn found him with Azimio's body."

"So he could call the police and tell them that Azimio got hit by a car. That way, no one besides us will ever know what really happened," Brittany said, nodding in understanding.

"Right," said Quinn. "Because they couldn't possibly understand or believe the truth. Things like demon attacks just don't happen in Lima, as far as they're aware, and we need to keep it that way – or they could get hurt, just like Azimio did."

"I know it doesn't feel right, Brittany, but we're trying to keep the whole town safe here," Rachel stated firmly. "So the less people who know what's really going on, the better."

The sound of footsteps on the stairs kept Rachel from speaking further, but the concerned expression on Tina's face told her that the girl had heard enough to understand the situation.

"So what are you going to do with me?" Tina asked when she got down to the bottom of the stairs, drawing everyone's eyes to her. "Repress my memories again, make me forget the incident in the park, the things Santana showed me? No. I'll fight you if you try. I may not be a witch, but I _am_ a strong woman and I will _not_ go down quietly or easily. I'm in this now, for better or worse."

Quinn raised an eyebrow at the defiant set of Tina's shoulders, her clenched fists, her determined stance. "You think you understand the risks. You think you can handle more of what Santana showed you, or worse. You truly believe these things."

"I do. If Britt's in this, I'm in this. Something attacked her. Someone means to hurt her. I need to know who, and why." She fixed Santana with a look of desperation. "Santana, I know this isn't easy for you to hear, but I love Brittany. Okay? I'm _in love_ with her, and if I can do anything to help you guys to protect her, I...I want to do just that. I _need_ to do it."

Rachel nodded, then turned her attention from Tina to Brittany, who had silently taken in her girlfriend's impassioned plea with a serious, somber look on her face.

"Britt? How do you feel about this?" she asked. "I still have my reservations about expanding our little circle of knowledge, but...if you're okay with Tina being part of it, I am too."

"We just don't want to see her get hurt, that's all," added Santana. "We want both of you to be safe."

Brittany folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them for a few moments, as she tended to do whenever she was thinking really, really hard about something. Then she looked up with a cold flame blazing in her ice-blue eyes. The intensity she saw there actually caused Santana to take a step back from her best friend; it was something she'd never, ever seen in those beautifully colored orbs before.

She let out a long, low sigh, and when she finally spoke, her voice was thick with fatigue, but still firm and strong. "I think Tina's right. This is her fight too, and you shouldn't try to keep her from fighting it anymore. Or me, either. I just...I don't want to see anything like what happened to Azimio happen to anybody else, so if I can help to keep that from happening, like Tina said, that's what I want to do."

Quinn clapped her hands, signaling that the discussion was at an end. "All right then," she said. "Let's all get some sleep and come back to this in the morning. We're all exhausted, and no good to anybody if we don't get some rest. Tomorrow, Rachel and I are going to show you all some things you can do to protect yourselves, and then we're going to crack the books -" She gestured to the huge bookshelf that took up the entire wall at the opposite end of the room, which was packed with all manner of magical texts, some over a thousand years old. "- and we're going to start figuring out how we can take the fight to whoever it is that's behind this instead of waiting for the next attack. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," Rachel said. "Come on, you two." She stepped over to the foot of the basement stairs and motioned for Tina and Brittany to follow. "I'll show you to the guest room. San, you're bunking with me and Quinn tonight. Okay?"

"Fine with me. I hope you're not a blanket hog, though. I hate it when I can't get enough blanket."

"San, we're witches. We can create as much blanket as we like."

Santana blinked, brought up short in their march up the stairs. "Oh, yeah. That's right."

Meanwhile, back in the center of town, a shivering Puck stood in the still unusually chilly early Lima morning beside the body of his friend, waiting for the cops to arrive, wondering what was taking them so long.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!**

 _chapter nine_

Puck stood shivering on the street corner, peering into the slowly rising sun, when a Lima P.D. patrol car finally pulled up, an ambulance behind it. The car disgorged two tired-looking officers, one male and one female, who looked down at Azimio Adams' lifeless body and shook their heads almost in unison. EMTs hopped out of the ambulance and began buzzing around like bees, doing EMT things that Puck didn't understand. Then again, he didn't understand much of anything at the moment. He knew he should feel upset, or angry, or _something..._ but instead, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Numb, hollow, like there was now an emptiness inside him that couldn't be filled.

He nodded and answered the questions that came from the officers and medical personnel, explaining in a monotone voice all that he could remember: he and Azimio had been hanging out, wandering the streets of Lima, intending to get a couple of late night pizza slices, when suddenly a car had come speeding out of nowhere, the driver possibly drunk or high or both, slammed into his friend's big body with sickening force, then peeled away far too quickly for Puck to even have a hope of getting its license plate number. Then he had stood over Azimio's corpse, as though guarding it, in shock, for some time until he'd finally had the presence of mind to call 911.

"Don't worry, son," the male officer said, gamely trying to affect an avuncular tone, though at this hour he'd clearly had too much coffee and not enough sleep to really pull it off. "We've got cameras attached to every traffic light in this town. It'll take a little time, but we'll review the footage and ID the license plate, and then we'll find and arrest the bastard who's responsible for this. We'll catch him. We will."

Puck felt not at all reassured by the officer's words as he watched the EMTs cover Azimio with a sheet, load him onto a gurney and then into the ambulance to be taken to the morgue.

"He...his parents...shit, I haven't called them yet," he said, looking to the female officer. Normally, he'd be checking her out, rating her on his patented internal MILF scale, but now he was searching only for compassion, for sympathy and understanding. Chicks were great at all that – and boy, did he need it now. "I don't...I don't think I can do that. Officer – can...can you do that for me?" He offered her his phone. "Please?"

The officer waved it away, and he placed it back into his pocket. "We'll take care of that down at the station. Normally, we'd ask you to come there with us, but -" She looked to her partner, who nodded affirmatively. "I think we've got enough from you now, and you look exhausted. Where do you live? We'll give you a ride home."

"Thanks," Puck said, appreciating the officer's kindness, unaccustomed as he was to receiving such gentle treatment from Lima's finest. Fortunately, these two were not among the many he'd met during his rather colorful high school career – otherwise, he knew, he would not have been so lucky.

Minutes later, he was in the back of the squad car, his hands blessedly not cuffed, and on his way home, numbly listening to the officers chattering away in the front. Strangely, he thought not of Azimio, his fallen friend and teammate, but of Rachel Berry – of all people! - and he wondered why that was. Then he shook his head, irritated, and closed his eyes, longing for sleep, knowing that there would be none for him this day. Slumping down in the seat, he opened his eyes and gazed out of the patrol car's window, watching the streets of Lima pass by and wondering when slumber would finally come, so that he could dream that this night had never happened.

* * *

Tina and Brittany snuggled under the covers on the bed in the Berry family guest room. Tina felt a desperate need for the taller girl's warmth, craved the touch of Brittany's skin against hers. The events of this night whirled through her mind, and she knew she'd never get any sleep if she didn't talk about it. Then again, she didn't want to keep a clearly exhausted Brittany awake either, so maybe it was best if at least one of them got some shut-eye.

"Your brain is so loud," the blonde cheerleader murmured. "I can hear it through the pillow."

Tina blushed in the darkness, grateful that her girlfriend was facing away from her, and buried her face in Brittany's neck, inhaling the sweet, delicious scent of the girl's shampoo. Somehow, it managed to reflect her personality perfectly: light and airy, like the aroma of a flower caught in a gentle breeze. Yes. That was Brittany.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Don't mind me. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll...I'll be all right. We'll talk in the morning."

"No, no," Brittany said firmly, turning so that she could face her girlfriend. "We'll talk now."

Looking into Brittany's ever so blue eyes and seeing the love and concern in them, Tina knew that Brittany wouldn't be dissuaded – especially when the taller girl placed a finger on her nose and smiled, saying, "So tell me what's on your mind. You know I can't resist your sexy brain anyway."

Tina laughed. So many of their conversations started this way, yet she never tired of hearing those particular words from Brittany. "You're the only person who's ever told me that my _brain_ is sexy."

"It's totally true. Intelligence is totally hot – and you're the smartest person I know. Now spill," Brittany said with a playful pout. "Or no sweet lady kisses before we fall asleep."

"You wouldn't!" Tina gasped in mock horror, pulling the blanket up beneath her chin with both hands. This was part of the game too, and she loved it. The truth was that this was a completely empty threat; nothing in the world could keep Brittany from indulging in some 'lip on lip action,' as she liked to call it.

"No, I wouldn't," Brittany admitted. "But you need to talk. So talk."

Sighing, Tina turned over so that she was on her back, her eyes focused upwards on a point in space somewhere beyond the ceiling. She had so many feelings, so many thoughts, all swimming around inside her...how could she possibly explain any of it? The events of this night had been a chaotic whirlwind of emotion, insanity and impossibility. The logical, rational side of her brain – sexy or not – struggled to accept, much less make sense of what she'd seen and heard. And now, somehow, she'd volunteered to get involved in some kind of magical battle between her friends – who had revealed themselves to be _witches_ , of all things! - and an unseen, unknown and lethal enemy. An enemy who was already responsible for the death of a fellow student and the traumatization of another friend.

"Poor Puck," she found herself saying aloud, giving voice to just one of the many thoughts in her head. "I've never seen him like that before. I've never seen _anyone_ like that before. The terror in his eyes...I can't stop thinking about it."

Brittany nodded in understanding. She, too, was deeply affected by Azimio's murder and Puck's reaction to it, even more than Tina knew. She was so attuned to the emotions of those she cared for that she couldn't help but feel what they felt when those emotions ran high. Normally, she could filter it out, but when the Elder Being had snuffed out the big football player's life as easily as one might extinguish a candle flame, and Puck had witnessed it...well, she wouldn't burden her girlfriend by sharing the way _that_ had felt. The fear, the pain, the trauma – she had felt it all as a physical blow, heard the screams in her mind as clearly as if she'd been standing there next to the two boys when it happened. Yet somehow she'd been able to absorb it, to withstand the blow without so much a word.

"I can't either, but you know Puck. He's a tough guy," she said, hoping she sounded like she believed it. "It'll take a while, but he'll bounce back. He always does."

"I hope so. I mean, yeah, he's a crude and obnoxious jerk most of the time, but he's _our_ crude and obnoxious jerk," Tina chuckled, thinking about all the lewd jokes and comments to which he'd subjected them all since becoming one of the New Directions. "And beneath all that macho nonsense, I know he really cares about the glee club. He'd take a bullet for any of us."

"He just _did_ – but for his sake, he can't ever know about it." The tone of Brittany's voice was so serious that it sent an icy chill down Tina's spine, causing her to turn onto her side again to face the blonde cheerleader. Brittany met her eyes in the darkness; Tina was struck once more by the way they seemed to glow in the dark, like a cat's. "Seriously, T. He _can't_. It would be really bad for him. Like, _really_ bad. I know you think he deserves to know, and he probably does, but it would do more harm than good."

Tina frowned. She knew Brittany was right, of course; she always was when it came to this sort of thing, and it served to reinforce what Rachel, Quinn and Santana had said earlier. The fewer the number of people who knew what was going on, the better. If keeping Puck ignorant would keep more harm from occurring, then that was what they would have to do, no matter how much it went against her own personal sense of right and wrong. There was obviously a great deal more than her feelings, or those of any one individual, at stake here.

"I won't tell him. I...I just...Britt, I'm _scared_. I can't even _begin_ to understand what's happening, and I _hate_ it when I don't understand things. I mean...Rachel, Quinn and Santana are _witches!"_ She paused, shaking her head as though that might impose some order on the chaotic thoughts swarming in her head. "Okay, I guess I could picture Santana riding around on a broom with a pointy hat on her head, but _Quinn?_ And _Rachel?_ The two most squeaky clean girls in all of McKinley? Like, how is that even possible?"

"Don't be scared, T." Brittany took her girlfriend in her arms, held her tightly, as though she might fly up and away. "Yeah, it's weird, but lots of things in this world are weird. Like chocolate flavored bubble gum, or Lord Tubbington's stamp collection. Or Quinn's tattoo of Ryan Seacrest."

The cheerleader gasped the moment she realized what she'd said. She hadn't meant to – it had just slipped out. Not that it would matter to Quinn, who would absolutely _kill_ her if she found out that her deepest, darkest, most shameful secret had been divulged. "Oops – forget I said anything about that."

"Wait, what? _Quinn_ has a tattoo...of _Ryan Seacrest?!_ Where?" The part of Tina's large brain that loved gossip and secrets was fully activated now, much to Brittany's chagrin. The girl shook with barely suppressed laughter, a needed relief from the stress she'd been feeling to this point. "Come on, you can't tell me she's got a tattoo – especially not one like _that –_ and then not tell me where it is! I _know_ you know, because you guys are tight, and she tells you everything."

"You can't ever let anybody know I told you this, Tina. If she ever finds out - oh my God, who knows what she'll do to me? Promise you'll never tell. Swear it, on Lord Tubbington and Charity's lives."

Tina linked her pinky finger with Brittany's, as was their custom. Pinky-sworn oaths were the most solemn and sacred of all. That didn't keep Tina from sighing before she made the vow, of course.

"I swear on all nine lives of the two most excellent cats in this or any other universe – that's Charity and Lord Tubbington - that I will never, ever share a word of this with another soul as long as I live," she swore, in the most sincere voice she could manage. "Now spill, dammit!"

"Okay," Brittany whispered conspiratorially. "Quinn went through a... _phase_ last summer – Rachel calls it her 'weeks of rebellion' – where she decided that she wanted a tattoo. And not just _any_ tattoo, but the most ridiculous, ironic tattoo she could possibly get. Rachel tried to talk her out of it, of course, but Quinn can be every bit as stubborn as Rachel when she wants to be, so...anyway, she went ahead and got it on her lower back."

"Oh my God!" Tina shook with barely suppressed laughter. "I can't believe it," she gasped. "Quinn, of all people, got a tattoo of Ryan Seacrest on her back. That...that is _absolutely hilarious!_ Do you have a picture? You know, _proof?"_

"I _did,_ but then Quinn went and deleted it from my phone. How she knew I'd taken that picture, I'll never know. Rachel and I are the only ones who've ever seen it. Quinn keeps it hidden with some kind of spell; that's why no one sees it during Glee, no matter how much she spins and twirls. She's super embarrassed over the whole thing, and she's determined to make sure no one else, not even Santana, ever finds out about it."

A thought popped into Tina's head. "Why is she only hiding it, then? Couldn't she just...like, _magic_ the thing away?"

"Because you can't heal _yourself_ with magic; another magic user has to use her power to heal you," Brittany explained, twirling her fingers with Tina's as she spoke. "At least, that's what Rachel told me. She said that Quinn's begged and begged her to get rid of it, but Rachel won't do it – at least not right now. I think she wants Quinn to live with it until she's satisfied that Quinn's learned a lesson about 'not giving in to rash impulses,' or something like that. I don't know; by that point I'd stopped listening."

Tina giggled, a little more loudly than she'd intended. "Shit," she whispered. "I hope they didn't hear that."

"Don't worry. Quinn sleeps like the dead - especially after sex. Rachel told me that Quinn often uses sex to relieve tension after a difficult day. And Rachel is always happy to give Quinn what she needs."

"How do you know that Quinn wanted to have sex, though?" Tina sat up, and Brittany followed suit, the blankets sliding down their bodies as they moved up to prop themselves against the pillows. "They both looked absolutely exhausted, all beat up and almost dead on their feet. No way they were up for doing anything more than collapsing into bed and slipping into comas."

"There's a certain way Quinn looks at Rachel when she needs her like that. Wait – are you telling me you've never noticed that look?"

Tina shook her head. "No. Why would I? It's hard enough for me to get my mind around the fact that they're actually _girlfriends_ , let alone the fact that they have sex."

"I know, right? But yeah, there's a certain look that Quinn gives her. It's kinda subtle, but once you've seen it, you can't miss it. I've seen her give Rachel that look in the hallways, in class, and _especially_ in Glee. Rachel's singing _really_ turns her on." Brittany laughed softly at the look of discomfort she could just make out on Tina's face. "And I saw it when we were all downstairs in the basement, too."

"I don't think I want to hear any more about this," Tina said. "My brain is painting all kinds of pictures I know I'll never be able to un-see."

"Sorry, not sorry. Like I said before, it's weird, but lots of things are weird. We just have to accept them, just like the fact that magic is real and our best friends know how to use it."

"Speaking of that – I know I said I wanted to help them fight against whatever it is that's threatening us, but I don't have any idea how I can do that. I don't have any magic...I don't even have any weird dreams like you do. I feel kind of useless."

"Hey." Brittany took Tina's face in her hands, looked her directly in the eye. "Don't ever call yourself that. You're amazing, T. You're super smart – probably smarter than Rachel _and_ Quinn. You'll think of something. I know you will." She drew Tina's face close to hers, then kissed her, softly, sweetly, tenderly, wanting to communicate her faith and confidence in Tina in a deeper way than could be conveyed in words.

When Brittany finally pulled away, Tina was breathless. "Wow. What was _that_ for?" she asked, feeling pleasantly warm and slightly light-headed. If expressions of worry and self-doubt could provoke kisses like _that,_ she thought, she would have to say such things more often.

"I need a reason for sweet lady kisses now? What, did the rules change when I wasn't looking?"

Tina wrapped her arms around Brittany, and again, she wondered how on Earth she'd gotten so lucky.

"Nope. You _never_ need a reason to kiss me. Especially like _that_. My toes are still tingling."

"That's good, right?" Brittany asked, already knowing the answer, whimsically bumping her nose against Tina's as they smiled in the darkness. "Tingling toes are good?"

They kissed again, slowly, deeply. "Yes, silly," Tina murmured against Brittany's lips. "Tingling toes are _always_ good."

After a few more sweet lady kisses, they said their goodnights, and Brittany turned over, falling asleep quickly, as she usually did. Tina, however, lay awake in the darkness for a while longer, sifting her thoughts until an idea finally came to her. It was a good idea, she thought; not without risk, of course - but what good idea was ever completely free of risk?

 _Now, if I can just get Mom to agree..._

* * *

Always the first to rise, Rachel was showered and dressed before anyone else. Santana had been disgruntled when asked to sleep on the living room couch, at least at first – but when Rachel had made the big coffee table vanish and then transfigured the couch into a large, exceedingly comfortable bed (complete with silk sheets, four equally comfy pillows and a ridiculously luxurious blanket), her grumbles had quickly turned to smiles and a "You have _got_ to teach me how to do this shit," which was, Rachel knew, as close as she'd get to a compliment from the girl at that hour.

Rachel hadn't _wanted_ to kick Santana out of the room, exactly, but when Quinn had focused her tired, yet still sparkling hazel eyes on her with _that_ look, she'd known exactly what Quinn needed, and she wasn't about to deny her girlfriend's needs to spare Santana's feelings. Yet she'd known it would take a major gesture of good will on her part to get Santana to go along with it, as the Cheerio wasn't exactly known for being magnanimous. She felt a little bad about the whole thing, but her body felt so good now that she couldn't be all that broken up over it, especially since the bed she'd created for Santana was actually a replica of the one she used whenever she had to stay over at the Fae Queen's palace, and as such was far better than anything mere humans could even dream of sleeping on. Really, faeries made the _best_ bedding.

One of the many perks of being a witch...if you could survive.

As Santana would soon learn. It wasn't all party tricks and shortcuts to ease and comfort. Being a witch was a deadly serious business, and those who couldn't or wouldn't recognize that essential fact quickly found out just _how_ deadly. Rachel had seen the potential in Santana when she'd awakened her, but she also knew that the girl had a flippant streak in her that might present difficulties as her training went on – and there was no time to indulge that sort of thing. Not now.

She could feel the disturbances swirling like eddies in the magical currents that flowed between all the realms, disturbances that were far from natural, had felt them for a while now. Deep things were happening in the darker places. Powers young and old were stirring, aligning, making plans and forging weapons. Any day now, she and Quinn would be summoned to the Witches' Circle, where they would present Santana as their third, the final member of their sacred, unbreakable Triad - and if they were lucky, they _might_ get a glimpse as to what the seers and counselors were planning in reaction to what was going on elsewhere. Rachel's own vision was murky, and Quinn possessed none of that special sight – but Brittany, she mused, seemed to possess something like it, but not quite. It was something different, something unique – which, _duh,_ of course it was; everything about that girl was different and unique. That was why everybody loved her, after all.

Rachel hummed absently to herself as she flitted around the kitchen, making coffee, quietly pulling out the ingredients for a lovely breakfast from the pantry and refrigerator. Thank goodness her fathers went away on business so often – they never noticed when she magically replaced all the food she and her friends tended to eat. Or perhaps they did and just never said anything. Her dads were good like that, she supposed. Either way, while they fretted and feared for the safety of their only daughter, they'd been assured that together, she and Quinn were more than powerful enough to protect themselves and the Berry and Fabray homes from just about anything.

Still, Rachel was glad that the Elder Being had shown up where it had, and not at their doorstep (or Judy Fabray's, for that matter). Then again, poor Azimio. She wished more than anything that they could have saved him from that terrible creature. He had never been very nice to her or any of the other members of the Glee Club - except for Puck, of course – but the fate he'd met was not one she would ever wish on anybody. Not even Sue Sylvester.

She heard stirrings in the living room and upstairs and quickened her movements, using a bit of magic to speed up the progress of the coffee maker. Brittany was a morning person, she knew, so she'd have no problem with her, but Quinn was notoriously slow to wake until that first jolt of caffeine hit her system. She imagined Santana to be much the same way, but had no idea what to expect from Tina. The coffee maker pronounced its beverage ready, and she resumed humming to herself as she poured cups of the steaming hot brew for Quinn, Santana and Tina, making sure there was plenty of milk, cream and sugar on the table for whoever wanted them, then poured glasses of orange juice for herself and Brittany.

Not surprisingly, Brittany was the first to come down the stairs, followed shortly after by a (thankfully) not too grumpy looking Tina. She heard Santana groan at the sound of their footsteps, and then a yawn from the luxurious bed that Rachel had conjured for her.

"All right, I'm up, I'm up. Jeez, you people are noisy. Rachel, where's your bathroom again?" the Cheerio asked, sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her bleary eyes.

"Down the hall and to your left," Rachel chirped. Brittany and Tina sat themselves down at the kitchen table, the tall blonde waving cheerfully at her and saying "Hi, Rachel," the other girl slumping in her seat as she poured cream and sugar into her coffee with a mumbled, "Morning."

By contrast, Santana lumbered off to the bathroom wordlessly, closing the door more forcefully than she'd probably intended. The sound made Tina jump in her seat, spilling a little coffee on the table – but before the girl could say a word, Rachel gestured, and the spill vanished as though it had never been there. Tina looked at her as if to say, _I could have gotten that,_ but Rachel simply smiled and placed two small plates of toast, two knives, a container of butter and a jar of raspberry jam in front of her and Brittany.

"How'd you know I like raspberry jam? Don't tell me you read my mind," Tina exclaimed. "It's way too early in the morning for that kind of thing."

"She didn't," Brittany said. "I told her a while ago, when she was thinking of inviting all the Glee girls over for a sleepover. Right, Rachel?"

Rachel nodded. "That's correct."

"Oh. Sorry, Rachel. I'm still getting used to...to the whole magic thing." Tina looked genuinely contrite, but even if she hadn't, Rachel couldn't blame her for her reaction. She reminded herself that the girl had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and was probably still trying to wrap her mind around everything.

"That's all right," she replied, shrugging off the comment with her usual pleasant smile. "Do you prefer waffles or pancakes? I can make both – though Quinn _is_ a lot better with the waffle iron..."

The sound of footsteps clomping down the stairs was only partly obscured by Quinn's groggy voice. "By which she means she routinely almost commits arson with the thing, and should never be allowed anywhere near it."

"Very funny, Quinn," Rachel said archly, crossing her arms as the adorably sleepy-looking pink-haired witch dragged her fuzzy slippered feet across the kitchen floor to stand before her with her lips pursed, demanding a kiss. Rolling her eyes, but smiling, she uncrossed her arms and pecked Quinn's lips. "And good morning. Your morning hilarity has now earned you the task of working the waffle iron – _after_ you've had your coffee." She pointed to the still-steaming mug in front of the empty chair next to Brittany. "Sit."

"Yes, ma'am." Quinn saluted, then slowly lowered herself into the chair. Nodding to Brittany and Tina, who said "Good morning" almost in unison, she turned her attention to the coffee mug, enjoying the aroma wafting up from it for a moment before reaching over for the milk and sugar. She poured both into the mug, stirred it with the spoon Rachel had placed next to her plate, then finally raised it to her lips for that first delectable sip.

"Ahhh. Rachel may not be so great with the waffle iron, but she _does_ make a mean cup of coffee," she said happily, to the bemusement of the other two girls. "Thank you, sweetie."

Before Rachel could respond, Santana emerged from the bathroom with fluffy white towels wrapped around her hair and body, leaving her shoulders and lower legs bare. Brittany lowered her head, not wanting to look with Tina sitting right there, even though she'd seen Santana wearing even less than that numerous times in the Cheerios locker room. Tina lowered hers as well, only too aware that Santana's physical attributes far exceeded her own, no matter how much Brittany tried to tell her otherwise.

Secretly, she envied Santana's glowing caramel skin, her high cheekbones and her Cheerios-workout trained body, wished she had the cheerleader's washboard abs and sleek legs. Looking at Santana just reminded her of everything she wasn't, which led to her constantly questioning why Brittany had inexplicably chosen her over Santana. Everybody always went on and on about how beautiful Quinn was, but to Tina's eyes, Santana was just as beautiful, if not more so. She could admit that maybe some of that had to do with the fact that Brittany had once had a relationship with Santana (a mostly physical one, according to Brittany). She'd tried very hard to block that unfortunate but inescapable reality out of her mind from the moment she and Brittany had gotten together, but the truth was that it was never very far from her thoughts; and the worst thing about it was that she just could not shake the fear that Brittany would dump her out of the blue one day and go back to Santana. It was always there, lurking like a shadow behind her heart, and she hated it.

Was that an unspoken reason behind her declaration that she wanted to be part of the battle against whatever mystical threat was looming over them? Yes, of course, she wanted to protect Brittany with everything she had, lack of magical ability or not; but she also felt a need to prove herself somehow, to show that she was worthy of Brittany's love and attention. That she didn't need to be a stunning beauty like Santana or Quinn in order to be good enough to be the one who held Brittany's heart.

Santana, for her part, seemed oblivious to the other two witches' stares, to the beads of water still glistening on the skin of her neck, her shoulders, her calves. She inhaled deeply, let it out with an emphatic "Whew!" and said, "I used your shampoo and conditioner, Rachel. You're kinda low on it now. Hope you don't mind. Got any _Lucky Charms?_ That's Britt's favorite cereal, you know."

"Er, you're welcome, Santana," Rachel said. "And I've got several more bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the closet, so don't worry about that. No _Lucky Charms_ though, I'm afraid." She turned to Brittany with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Britt."

"That's okay. I haven't eaten them in a while, actually. Not since Lord Tubbington tried to put out a hit on Lucky the Leprechaun. He's _so_ the jealous type."

"I think I need more coffee after that one," deadpanned Quinn, shaking her head as the others burst out laughing. She rose from the table, grabbing the spatula off the counter, pointing the utensil at Santana and drawing a circle in the air with it. " _You._ Waffles or pancakes?"

"You know I'm all about the waffles, bitch." Santana grinned, holding the towel on her head in place with one hand while swatting at the brandished kitchen implement with the other. "Let the batter be poured!"

Rachel rolled her eyes at her friends' absurd antics. "Okay, but first you've got to put on some clothes," she said, watching Quinn flick the spatula at Santana as though engaged in some sort of domestic fencing match. "My kitchen is _not_ a clothing-optional space. Go."

"Yeah, well, you may have an oven, but _this -"_ Santana pointed at herself. " - is the hottest thing in this kitchen, and you know it."

And with that, the Cheerio made her exit, executing a mock storm-out that even Rachel could not have bettered, leaving gales of laughter in her wake. Except from Tina, whose sigh went unnoticed.

* * *

After breakfast, Tina and Brittany departed; Brittany stated that if she didn't get home to feed Charity and Lord Tubbington, they might sell off some of her stuff to get cash to order pizzas, while Tina said she needed to speak to her mom about something that could help them all with their situation. This drew raised eyebrows from both Rachel and Quinn, and even Brittany looked surprised, but Tina assured them that she would phrase things in such a way that her mom wouldn't get suspicious or start calling anybody's parents.

"Do you need to call your parents?" Rachel asked Santana, who was still basking in her newly discovered ability to create her own hot outfits with magic, gazing at herself in Rachel's bedroom mirror, pleased with the tight striped dress she wore, and the way it clung to her in all the right places.

"What? Oh, no. No, they're cool." She shook her head. "They're at some medical conference somewhere. I'll just need to check on the house at some point."

"Yes, once you're done checking _yourself_ out," cracked Quinn, before blowing a bubble and letting it pop loudly. "Rachel, I think you may have created a monster."

"You just wish _you_ had an ass like this, Q. Well, actually no, I take that back. I should say you wish you _still_ had an ass like this. Not for nothing, but if you'd stayed on the Cheerios, you would. Honestly, I never understood why you quit the squad in the first place. It's not like you weren't handling both Glee and cheerleading."

Quinn stuck out her tongue. "First of all, my posterior is just _fine_ , thank you very much. Ask Rachel if you don't believe me." She arched an eyebrow at her girlfriend, who blushed in answer. "And second of all, you understood perfectly well why I quit the Cheerios. It wasn't that it was conflicting with Glee; it was that it was conflicting with my _relationship_. I needed more time with Rachel. Well, and because she wouldn't allow a girl with pink hair on the squad. Simple as that."

"Yeah, right. Nothing is ever _simple as that_ with you, Q. I remember you having some kind of hush-hush closed door meeting with Coach Sue, and both of you coming out of her office looking like you'd seen a fucking ghost. Right after that, she told us that you were no longer a Cheerio, and not to ask her or you any questions about it."

"Which, to my eternal surprise, you didn't. Thanks for that, by the way. And for telling everybody in Glee to do the same. Otherwise I don't think I would have ever gotten Kurt and Mercedes out of my hair – you know how _those_ two are."

"Don't mention it. Seriously – _don't_ mention it. I've had a good day so far, and I'd rather not spoil it by thinking about those two gossip hounds."

Santana plopped herself down on the bed next to Quinn. Rachel eyed the two of them warily, knowing all too well how volatile their chemistry had been in the past. The last thing she wanted to do was referee any fights between them, when what they should be doing was starting Santana's magical training. Her gaze flitted back and forth between the two proud, strong young women, nervous as to where this conversation would lead. Quinn held her secrets close; Rachel was aware that there were some dark things in her past, the details of which Quinn had never divulged. But she had an idea of what this was about, and she wasn't sure how Santana would handle it. She supposed it was as good a test of their newly formed Triad bond as any, but she didn't want to see Quinn upset if things went poorly.

"So - now that we're all Piper, Prue and Phoebe around here, I figure you can give me all the dirt on what _really_ went down with Coach. Come on, Q. You know you can tell me anything. No matter what, we've always been able to be totally honest with each other."

At Quinn's sigh and nod of acquiescence, Rachel reached out to Quinn on their private frequency. _Quinn, are you really going to tell her about – I mean, are you **sure**?_

 _Yes. And you can relax. I'm fine. Really, I'm okay with telling her. She...she should know._

"Okay, Santana. You _really_ want to know the truth? Here it is. My mother got possessed by the spirit of my evil great-grandmother, who would like to see both Rachel and me cut off from our magic and left to die in a desert somewhere. Mostly because she's a Berry and I'm a Fabray and she's still nursing a grudge from a couple hundred years ago, and it deeply offends her that we're in love. I needed to quit the squad so I could keep an eye on my mother and make sure great-gran didn't come out and make her do something awful as a way of punishing her for allowing me to be with Rachel."

Santana's eyes widened, and she shook her head "no" slowly, very slowly. Then her look of disbelief was replaced by a smile...and she burst out laughing.

"Oh, man, Q, that...that's a good one. I mean, I probably would have bought the pink hair thing, honestly, 'cause I know how weird Coach Sue is about her Cheerios and their hair, but...wow. _Possession?_ Seriously, that's what you're going with?"

She wiped away her tears of laughter, but when her vision cleared, she saw that Quinn's expression was serious – really, truly super serious. Her hazel eyes were so cold that they looked like marbles of green ice, and there wasn't even the tiniest hint of a smile at her lips. No one had a death stare like Quinn, and even Santana was not immune to its tendency to make people feel nervous and unsettled. She looked to Rachel, silently asking if what Quinn had just said could really be true, and at Rachel's almost imperceptible nod of affirmation, she looked back at Quinn and swallowed hard. She had the feeling she'd somehow failed a test she hadn't known she was taking.

 _All right, I screwed up. Big time. I admit it,_ Santana chided herself. It was rare for her to ever regret anything she said, but now she found the idea of hurting Quinn to feel something like stabbing herself in the gut. Like, it was actually physically painful. She wondered when that had happened.

"So...you're not joking. Oooookayyyyy. _Shit,_ Q. I...I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. That's a hell of a situation – pardon the pun – to be in. Is there anything I can do to...to help?"

Quinn lowered her eyes, but not before seeing in the soft expression on her face that Santana was really, truly sorry for her flippant reaction. The truth was, she hadn't even talked all that much about the situation with Rachel, and it actually felt good to unburden herself about it a little bit. It was also good to know that the witch-bond between her and Santana was strong.

"I wish you could. I'm pretty sure I've done all I can, anyway." Quinn said softly. Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes, which were much softer-looking now than they'd been just a few moments before. "I've got great-gran locked away in a corner of my mom's mind, but I haven't been able to get her out of there completely, and I - I'm always worried that she's going to get loose again and do something to hurt her. Who knows what havoc she might cause?"

Rachel crossed the room to kneel in front of Quinn, taking her hand and gently kissing her fingers, wanting desperately to console the girl she loved so much.

"Fuck. That's terrible," Santana said. "Well, maybe now that we've got this triplet thing happening, our combined badass-ness will force your great- _abuela_ to fly off to Get-the-Hell-Out-of-Here-Ville and leave your mom alone. I mean, I'm sure that Rachel's tried to help you, right?"

"Quinn hasn't wanted to quote-unquote _burden_ me with this particular problem. _Save your strength,_ she keeps telling me." Rachel looked up into Quinn's sad eyes, saw the love she felt reflected back at her. "So she's been trying to handle it alone, and to her credit, she's done a very good job so far. We're hoping to find a more permanent solution at the Witches' Circle, which will be happening very soon." Her questioning look at Quinn was met with an affirmative nod, and she rose, smoothing out her skirt once she was fully upright. "If the answers are anywhere, that's where they'll probably be found."

"Hold up - what the hell is a Witches' Circle?" Santana stood, suddenly feeling more than a little confused. "What's that? You all have some kind of yearly convention or something? Like, with name tags that say _Hello, I'm a witch?_ "

Quinn chuckled, coming back to herself. She was not one to allow grief and pain to overtake her, no matter the situation. Yes, occasionally her emotions would build to the point where she felt like they were too much to handle at once, but she firmly believed that she ruled her emotions, that she wasn't ruled by them. A witch rode that balance carefully; it was one of the keys to survival.

"Not exactly. It's more like a _State of the Magical World_ kind of thing," she explained as Rachel plopped down into the spot Santana had vacated next to her. "We welcome new witches into the ranks, remember those who have passed away, take stock of what's happening in the magical world. There's a lot happening now, as you already know, so this Circle is especially important. Which is one of the reasons why you're coming with us, whenever it happens."

"Like, okay. I'm as up for a sudden vacation as much as the next girl, but how am I going to square that with Coach Sue? And Principal Figgins, for that matter? What about Glee?"

Rachel smiled widely - Santana instantly recognized it as her patented _I know something you don't know_ smile, familiar from way too many glee club rehearsals. It wasn't her favorite of the many smiles Rachel had. No – her favorite was the confident, determined smile Rachel always put on right when she was about to go on stage, knowing that the New Directions were about to crush the competition...it was sweet, but also kind of... _sexy?_

She gave herself a mental slap.

 _Wait – when did I start noticing, and cataloguing, Rachel's smiles? Oh, man. I can't be crushing on Rachel, can I? I need to get a hold of myself. Quinn is my best friend! And yeah, she's super hot too, but...fuck, I've gotta stop thinking about this._

"They'll never know," Rachel said, clapping her hands in delight. "That's the genius part of it. The Witches' Circle isn't in a physical place on Earth, you see. It's in another dimension we call the Weirding, which – are you ready for this? - _exists outside of time._ While we're there, the normal rules by which we live on Earth don't apply. Days will pass there, but only a blink will take place here. I'll admit I don't fully understand how it all works, but it's amazing, don't you think?"

Quinn nodded in agreement with her excitable girlfriend, then continued to explain, as Santana still looked more than a bit confused. "But just in case, we'll have animated simulacra of ourselves here to take our places should the need arise."

"Simu- _what,_ now?" Santana's face scrunched up in an expression of incomprehension and disbelief. "Auntie Tana needs you to 'splain that some more, please and thank you."

" _Simulacra_. Magically constructed entities that look, move, act and sound exactly like us in every way. While we're in the Weirding, the simulacra will act as decoys, and as our eyes and ears as well, able to alert us if anything happens back here in Lima."

"Okay, I understand absolutely none of this, but it still sounds kinda fun. I've always kinda wanted to have a clone of myself. Can we keep 'em going after we get back? Cause I mean, seriously, I love Mr. Schue and everything, but his history class can get _really_ boring."

They all laughed at that, and the mood in the room lightened considerably. Their hearts beat in sync, and the witch-bond grew stronger still. Soon they would be a true Three-in-One, sharing hearts, minds, bodies and souls – and possibly the most powerful triad in all of Witchkind.

And if what Rachel had been feeling held true, they would need every bit of that power, and maybe more.

"No, Santana, we can't. Not unless there's some kind of extreme circumstance that requires them to remain active. Those are the rules," she said. Quinn's fingers stroked at her scalp, brushed through her long hair. She almost purred with contentment. "Right, Quinn?"

"It's true. Keeping a simulacrum active indefinitely would require far too much energy; it's impractical, not to mention frowned upon. They _have_ been known to go rogue every now and then, and the Circle hates having to send hunters after them - because once they go rogue, their creators can't control them anymore, and they become like rebellious children. It's a use of resources that the Circle considers wasteful."

"Well, _that_ sucks," Santana groaned. "I guess there's no escaping Mr. Schue's class after all."

"Which reminds me – we have homework," said Rachel airily, eliciting another, louder groan from the Cheerio. "Now, now. We're witches, so we can speed-read and speed-write everything. And then we can get started on something even more important."

Santana quirked an eyebrow at her. "Which would be...?"

"Your training. What, you thought that just because I taught you how to conjure a couple of items you know everything already? That's not how this works, Santana. You have a lot to learn, and we don't have a whole lot of time to teach you. Things are stirring. _Bad_ things. We need to get you ready for that, as well as the Witches' Circle."

"As much as you'll probably hate hearing me say this – and you _will,_ because I'll be saying it quite a bit as your training goes on – Rachel is right," said Quinn. "I don't have the sight she does, but I can tell you that the fact that we've already encountered an Elder Being is _not_ a good sign. If anything, it's a pretty serious indication of what we're going to be up against."

Santana swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as dust.

"And you've trained _who_ , may I ask? You're telling me the Circle doesn't have its own Hogwarts?"

Grinning, Rachel replied, "No Hogwarts, I'm afraid; we used to have something like it, but it was destroyed a long time ago by entities we're forbidden to name. Yes, apparently it was _that_ bad. But not to worry – we have, in fact, trained, or at least had a hand in training, other witches. Sunshine Corazon, for one."

"Wait, what? You mean that tiny girl who went to McKinley for a minute, then transferred to Carmel right when their glee club all came down with the worst outbreak of mono in Lima history?"

"Yes," said Rachel. "She wasn't very strong, magically speaking, but when she saw how terribly their director, that awful man Goolsby, was treating them, she felt it was the least she could do."

"And it didn't hurt when the doctors found that Goolsby started the outbreak by kissing one of his students, which resulted in him getting fired," Quinn added.

"Wanky," Santana said approvingly. "And who else? I mean, she can't be the only one, right?"

Rachel looked to Quinn, seeking permission to reveal one of their most important secrets. _She'll find out eventually anyway, one way or another,_ Quinn's dry voice answered in her mind.

She took a very deep breath. "Someone you know very well, actually. Someone whose identity as a Witch is known to very few, for reasons we're not at liberty to discuss."

Santana was practically vibrating. She was thrilled and fearful at the same time about starting her training, but those feelings were pushed aside by her curiosity about this 'secret witch.' The suspense was positively killing her. Who could they possibly be talking about?

" _Who is it,_ dammit? I swear, if you don't spill in the next five seconds, short stack, I'll -"

Suddenly a voice spoke in their minds. A voice Santana did, in fact, know very well. Her expression curdled like weeks-old milk at the sound of it.

 _Hola, chicas! It's me, Santana. They're talking about **me**. Holly Holliday – or Ms. Holliday if you're nasty._

"Oh, hell no!" Santana yelled. "You mean to tell me you trained the most unreliable, not to mention the most _irresponsible,_ substitute teacher in the history of substitute teachers to be a damned witch? The one who thought _singing a song_ would get Brittany to love me?" Hot tears formed in her eyes, which narrowed in a fierce glare of displeasure, and she wagged her finger in front of her face for emphasis. _"No me gusta."_

 _Hey, look. Brittany's a gentle soul. I really thought it would touch her in a way that would bring her around. How was I to know she was already in love with Tina? I mean, ouch._

Quinn lowered her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers. _That's really **not** helping, Ms. Holliday._

"Where _is_ that bitch, anyway? I mean, not in my head, but physically. Because I'd like to have a few words with her, Lima Heights style!" Santana fumed, pacing around the room furiously, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. "I don't need magic to kick her scrawny little blonde butt from here all the way to Cleveland, that's for damned sure."

Holly Holliday's witch-voice was amused. _Oh, come on, sweet cheeks. Don't be like that. We're all sisters now, remember? Where's the solidarity? Where's the comradeship? Where's the love?_

Santana responded only by yelling even louder, releasing a stream of epithets in Spanish that surely would have curled Rachel's toes had Mr. Schue ever taught his students how to swear back when he was still teaching Spanish.

Rachel switched to the private link she shared with Quinn. _Maybe this wasn't such a spectacular idea after all._

 _You think? c_ ame the expected acerbic reply. _Any ideas as to how we can get Santana out of rage mode and back on program?_

 _The last thing I want to do right now is muck with her emotions. Santana is volatile even at the best of times, but right now I wouldn't trust any magic I directed at her not to simply boomerang right back at me._

Quinn sighed, shaking her head. This was definitely _not_ the way she'd envisioned the start of Santana's training. Then she felt the buzz of her phone in her back pocket and reached around to see who was calling or texting. When she saw the screen, the breath caught in her throat, producing a strangled cry of wordless horror. The phone fell out of her hand as though it had suddenly become intangible.

Santana's ranting cut off abruptly as Rachel found herself holding Quinn upright, the girl's body suddenly boneless; the Witch-bond had instantly let them both know that something serious was happening, or had already happened.

 _Quinn? Quinn, what's wrong?_ Rachel's mind-voice was frantic. _Please, talk to me, Quinn!_

Santana picked up the phone from where it lay on the floor at the pink-haired witch's feet, the message still displayed on the now cracked screen. She read the words, and one hand flew to her mouth, which had dropped wide open in disbelief.

"Oh, shit. Rachel, Quinn's great-grandma has gone and set Casa Fabray on fire!"


End file.
